Contrary to Popular Belief
by Angustias
Summary: Merlin is captured and Arthur must go on a quest to save him but will the rescue come in time? And will Arthur still want to save Merlin after secrets are revealed? Sequel to "Memories are Contrary Things". Please read and review, I know this is a common plot but give it a chance, you'll probably love it! Warnings: T for violence, torture, and some graphic imagery.
1. Prequel

**This chapter is the prequel to what will be a fairly long ****fic, it covers the time gap between when "Memories are Contrary Things" ends and this story begins. I will update at least once a week, sooner if I get a lot of feedback because I feel bad making people wait for more when they've taken time to review. Enjoy!**

**Warnings: I'm rating this T because there will be torture later on**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin... duh**

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It had been a year, an entire year since Morgana had fled Camelot, gravely injured and enraged over the failure of her plot. A year since Arthur had vowed to find her and a year since Merlin had sworn to kill the witch at their next meeting.

Gwen had been travelling during Morgana's attack and for that Arthur was eternally grateful. As his queen she was an important part of maintaining diplomatic relations with the neighboring kingdoms and she had been over the western border, in Caerleon, when the witch appeared. He'd sent her and two of his most trusted council members to represent Camelot in negotiating the terms of a new trade agreement between the two realms.

In the beginning Arthur had sent out patrols every few days, scouring the kingdom for any sign of Morgana but she was nowhere to be found, it was like she had fallen off the face of the earth. Group after group returned empty handed, with nothing to show for their time away, and eventually Arthur decreased the patrols to once a week and then once a month.

After such a long time the threat of imminent attack had diminished and a sense of stability returned to the castle. The general consensus was that Morgana had either died from the wound Merlin had inflicted or she was still too weak to launch a full-scale invasion of Camelot so the people grew complacent.

Arthur should have known it wouldn't last, should have known the lack of activity foretold great calamity but he wanted to believe that peace had finally come to Camelot after so many years of war and conflict. He ignored the signs because he wanted to be optimistic, wanted to live without constant fear and it was this willful ignorance that would place the future of Albion at risk once again.

...

Morgana wasn't dead, nor was she too weak to attack Camelot; she was simply biding her time, waiting for the moment when she could put her plan into action. She hid, like a spider in the dark, spinning her web thread by careful thread, content to wait for her prey to come to her, to fall unwittingly into her trap. She'd spent the past year perfecting her plan, sifting through the details to root out and meticulously repair every imperfection, one by one, until the plot was foolproof.

There was no way for her plan to fail because she knew now, knew Merlin's little secret, how he'd managed to escape every time he was captured and she had taken precautions, there would be no escape for him this time. He should have been more careful, paid more attention to who he'd offended, because now all his secrecy had been for naught, Morgana knew his secret and by the time she was done with him he would wish he had never been born.

After she had conjured the whirlwind in the throne room Morgana had been close to collapse. Unsure if she would make it out alive she drew her magic to her, pulling it in until the glowing golden orb pulsed deep inside her chest. Using the last of her fading energy she flung herself forward, pushing the magic out to carve a path through time and space; the throne room fell away as a strong wind rushed hollowly past her ears and, as quickly as it had fallen away, the world around her formed again. When her head finally stopped spinning she opened her eyes and saw, not the red and gold of Camelot, but rather, the greens and browns of the forest.

Twirling around with her arms flung out like a child Morgana laughed, not the cynical laugh that normally slid from her throat but lilting musical tones that were reminiscent of a happier time. She had done it! Teleportation was one of the most difficult forms of magic known to man and _she_ had done it! Morgana slumped to the ground tiredly as the blood loss finally caught up with her but the smile didn't leave her face, not even as her vision dimmed and the world faded to black.

...

Mordred loved the woods, it wasn't that they made him happy, he was never happy, but he was fascinated with the complexity and vibrancy of the world beneath the leafy branches of the trees. The air itself seemed to thrum with life and purpose as every animal, down to the smallest ant, carried out its tasks with efficiency. Normally the forest was a peaceful place, ruled by order, where Mordred could escape to be alone, but today was different, something was wrong. The birds took flight, cawing loudly as he approached and small animals darted quickly through the underbrush, eyes wide with fear.

Mordred heightened his senses, scanning the woods around him for anything out of the ordinary; he reached out with his magic, identifying each life form for what it was as he brushed against it. When he finally found the source of the disturbance it wasn't a patrol, or even a hunting party as he'd expected, it was a girl.

The girl was sprawled across the ground, limbs resting at awkward angles like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The foliage below her was stained crimson with blood and her chest barely moved with each shallow breath. Drawing closer, Mordred started as he realized it was Morgana, the girl that had helped him escape from Camelot all those years ago. Her hair was fanned out behind her head, an innocent grin still lighting her pale face with childlike purity that had fled from her conscious being long ago.

Dropping to his knees beside her prone form Mordred ran his hand over the wound, lips moving soundlessly as he muttered a spell. His eyes glowed in the gathering twilight and the blood reversed directions, flowing back into the gash; soon after her skin began to crawl, writhing as it knitted itself back together until all that remained was a faint white line.

Mordred sat back, wrinkling his brow in concern as he waited for her to wake up. When he had been trapped in Camelot, hidden in Morgana's chambers, he had developed a special bond with her, one that was still as strong today as it had been the day it was formed, almost as if destiny had been drawing them together since the beginning of time. He sat up straighter, leaning forward, as Morgana's eyelids fluttered and she began to move her head slowly from side to side, moaning softly.

"Mordred?" she whispered uncertainly, blinking rapidly in an attempt to focus her vision.

_Morgana_, he replied, speaking directly to her mind as a small sigh of relief escaped from his lips, _What happened? Are you okay?_

Her hand flew to her side as she remembered the wound but it didn't come away sticky with blood as she'd expected, sitting up she looked down in confusion at the small scar.

"Did you do this, Mordred?" she asked, running her finger up and down the raised line.

He nodded, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment.

She narrowed her eyes, watching him dig self-consciously at the dirt with a stick. One of his legs was folded under him and he rested his chin on the other, which was pulled protectively against his chest. He had grown since she had last seen him and his magic was much more powerful than she'd imagined if he could heal such a deep wound so cleanly, perhaps she could use the boy's loyalty to her advantage.

Finishing her appraisal she crooked a finger under Mordred's chin, raising it until their eyes met. "I need you to help me with something."

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**Please review and tell me what you think, good start or no? I've written a companion piece called "Voluntary Silence" that details Mordred's past so if you're interested go check it out!**


	2. The Warning

**Holy cow, 31 reviews for one chapter?! You guys are AMAZING! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who review, favorited, and followed! Sorry I didn't get this out sooner, I had to decide where exactly I wanted to go with the story. **

**Just for reference Mordred is about 16 in this story. Some of you might think he's a little out of character but I'm basing his personality on how creepy he acted as a kid in the series. **

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Finishing her appraisal she crooked a finger under Mordred's chin, raising it until their eyes met. "I need you to help me with something."

_"Anything_" he said earnestly.

"It was Merlin who tried to kill me." Morgana began, fingering the scar thoughtfully as she stared into space. "I managed to escape this time but he is becoming a problem, I want him dead!"

Mordred returned his gaze to the ground, drawing several symbols in the dirt with his stick before erasing them and replying, "_Emrys is very powerful, it will be no easy task to subdue him._"

Morgana flinched at the mention of her nemesis; the one the prophecies claimed would be her doom. "I want to capture Merlin, not…" here Morgana paused, curling her lip in disgust before sneering "_Emrys_."

"_They are one and the same._" Mordred answered calmly, turning his attention to a rabbit that huddled fearfully in the underbrush a few feet away. He reached out towards the creature, caressing its consciousness with his own until it relaxed, leaving its hiding place to sit beside him.

"WHAT?!" Morgana shouted, shooting to her feet in surprise, "That's impossible!"

"_And yet it is true_." Mordred said, staring indifferently at the ground as he ran his fingers hypnotically through the soft fur of the rabbit's back.

"But he's just a servant, a bumbling idiot who follows Arthur around like a puppy!"

"_Appearances can be deceiving._" Mordred answered, glancing disinterestedly at the rabbit that was now sleeping against his leg before gripping the sides of its skull and twisting viciously until it's spine snapped with a small pop. Wiping his hands on his trousers, Mordred got to his feet and walked to the nearby stream for a drink.

"Although…" Morgana trailed off, pacing furiously back and forth as she tried to reconcile this new information with her previous conception of the boy. "It would explain a lot, like how he always manages to worm himself out of impossible situations…" Morgana stopped abruptly, turning to face Mordred with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

…

Arthur woke with a start as a particularly loud clap of thunder echoed through the castle, seeming to shake the thick stone walls themselves with its force. Sighing, he rolled over, pulling Gwen closer to him as he tried to find a more comfortable position. The storm was one of the worst Arthur could remember, it had raged nonstop for three days, pelting the city furiously and driving even the most adventurous to seek shelter indoors.

The rain came down in sheets, pounding the stones of Camelot furiously as it washed away decades of dirt and grime, as if trying to purge the city of its sin. Much of the lower town was flooded from the deluge and refugees had started trickling into the citadel. They had been able to set up temporary shelters for those who had lost their homes but there was no way they could house all of Camelot and, if the storm didn't abate soon, they would have to start turning people away.

Another rumble of thunder followed closely by a flash of lightening filled the air and Arthur opened his eyes, staring at the hangings above his bed. It would be pointless to try and sleep now, his mind was already puzzling through the problems he would have to address in the morning council meeting; sliding out from under the covers, careful not to wake his sleeping wife, Arthur went to his desk and grabbed the reports. He might as well get a head start on the day's work, it beat staring at the ceiling in any case.

Arthur had just lit a candle and sat down to read when the window blew open with a bang, shutters flapping noisily against the wall. The candle sputtered out but Arthur hardly noticed as he grabbed his sword and assumed a defensive stance. There, perched lightly on the windowsill, was a man. At least Arthur though it was a man, it was hard to tell because the only light in the room was now provided by periodic flashes of lightening.

Arthur studied the man in the flickering light; his abnormally long toes were curled tightly around the window ledge, gripping the outcropping like a second pair of hands. His black hair hung in stringy clumps around his shoulders and his clothes were torn and dirty but there was an almost palpable air of authority that surrounded him. He turned to look at Arthur, staring at the king with glowing emerald eyes that seemed to pierce straight to the soul. When he spoke his voice came out a low raspy growl, as if he hadn't used it in many years.

_"Beware Arthur Pendragon", _the man warned_, "she will come two days hence_."

"What do you mean?" Arthur demanded but the man only stared back mournfully.

"_When all seems lost travel to the tower of Isolade, there your path will be made clear._"

"Stop speaking in riddles and answer my question!" barked Arthur.

"_If you wish to fulfill your destiny you will heed my warning._" threatened the man.

Arthur was livid; this man had no right to come into his room in the middle of the night, threatening him with destiny. He took a quick step forward, raising his sword but before he could swing it down the man spun and, uncurling his lanky frame, jumped spread-eagle into the open air.

Stunned Arthur ran to the window and looked out, still gripping his sword tightly, he had expected to see the strange man lying broken in the courtyard below but the next flash of lightening revealed nothing. Frowning Arthur leaned as far out as he deemed safe and craned his neck, looking for any sign of the visitor, but he found nothing. It was like the man had disappeared into thin air.

"Arthur?"

Gwen's sleepy voice brought him back to the present and he turned sheepishly around to find her staring at him in confusion, the covers puddled around her waist.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Arthur replied quickly, "The storm must have blown the window open."

"Come back to bed." Gwen said, patting the mattress beside her as she lay back down with a yawn.

"Be there in a minute." Arthur replied, closing the window and returning his sword to its proper place.

He crawled back into bed; snuggling close to Gwen and squeezing his eyes shut but sleep still eluded him. His mind was alive with thoughts of the man and questions about what he had said. _Who would come? What would they want?_ And most of all, _what did any of it have to do with his destiny?_

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**So I had someone tell me that I should focus more on character development and description, how do you think I did? Please review and let me know!**


	3. Of Friendship and Revenge

**Several of you requested a longer chapter so this one is almost twice as long as the last one, I did my best but it's really hard for me to write more than 1000-1500 words, I'll continue to write longer chapters if you'd like, just let me know.**

**Quite a few people said they missed Merlin in the last chapter as well but rest assured he's in this one! There's a lot of interaction between Merlin and Arthur in this chapter but I promise the plot will really start picking up next chapter. Also I needed the humor/lightheartedness of this chapter to balance out the next few.**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

**To the guest who asked: yes, I go to the University of Missouri, I'd love to meet up sometime just log in/sign up and message me to work out the details.**

**LilyBee37: Thanks for asking about the title, I'll put the reasoning behind it in the author's note for the next chapter as this note is already too long!**

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Arthur must have fallen asleep sometime during the night because when he woke the sun was streaming through the window. Gwen was no longer in the room and Arthur rolled onto his back, pulling the covers over his head to block out the light. A dull ache throbbed at the base of his skull, protesting the brightness and he groaned, cursing his inability to sleep the night before.

Suddenly, the door to his chamber crashed open and a slightly off-tune whistling filled the air. Poking his head out of the cocoon he'd created, Arthur glared at its source.

"_Mer_lin, why do you have to be so damn _cheerful_ all the time?"

"Today is a good day." Merlin proclaimed, a smile nearly splitting his face in half as he opened the shutters and leaned out, breathing deeply.

"Get back in here before you kill yourself." Arthur grumbled, sitting up in bed and running a weary hand over his face.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." Merlin quipped, pulling the shutters closed and moving to pick up the mess that Arthur had managed to create over night. He would never know how the king did it but, no matter how spotless the room was when Merlin left for the night, it was messy again when he showed up in the morning.

"That's impossible, I haven't even gotten up yet." Arthur shot back.

"Oh, you're right." Merlin said with a gleam in his eye.

"Merlin," Arthur said with amazement, "I'm pretty sure that's the first time you've actually _agreed_ with me!"

"I guess you're just an arrogant prat who can't help being grumpy and spoiling everyone else's morning."

"What?!" Arthur cried, grabbing a pillow off the bed and lobbing it at his triumphant manservant, "I wouldn't go _that_ far."

It was true, however, that Arthur was _not_ a morning person and, more often than not, he woke in a terrible mood but the camaraderie he shared with Merlin coupled with the fact that Gwen was normally the first person he saw had gone a long way in improving his disposition.

"What time is it anyway?" Arthur asked, glancing around the room as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Almost noon." Merlin replied, draping Arthur's clothes for the day over the changing screen.

"NOON!" Arthur shouted, jumping out of bed and frantically trying to pull his clothes on. "I was supposed to be at the council meeting three hours ago!"

"No you weren't."

"Yes Merlin, I wouldn't expect _you_ to remember but we were going to discuss the refugee situation and the best way to deal with this blasted rain!"

"What rain?" Merlin asked innocently.

"That rain you idiot!" Arthur said, jabbing his finger towards the window.

"I don't see any-" Merlin began but was interrupted by Arthur's exasperated sigh.

"Good grief Merlin, are you completely blind?" the king exclaimed, grabbing his servant by the shoulders and steering him to the window.

"No," Merlin replied, "but I think _you_ are."

Arthur started to respond that he wasn't blind, far from it. In fact his vision was better than most, how else would he be able to hit the exact center of a target from one hundred paces? Then he noticed the golden light filtering through the window. "It stopped raining!"

"Wow Arthur," Merlin drawled, "you really need to work on your observational skills. If it takes you that long to notice that the sun is shining I'm seriously concerned for the future of Camelot!"

"Hmmm… That's actually a good idea. A hunting trip would be the perfect way to hone my skills, don't you think Merlin?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

Merlin pulled a face, sticking his tongue out at the king before gathering Arthur's dirty clothes from the floor and scurrying out of the room in time to avoid the goblet Arthur chucked at his head. Laughing, Merlin stuck his head back in the room.

"You missed." he taunted.

"I never miss." Arthur claimed, hitting Merlin in the forehead with a boot before the servant could duck out of the way.

"OW!" He cried, rubbing his head defensively.

"Serves you right." Arthur answered haughtily before disappearing behind his dressing screen. "Be ready to leave in an hour, I'll meet you in the courtyard."

The bang of his chamber door as it slammed closed was the only answer Arthur got and he chuckled to himself, thinking about how much his tenderhearted manservant hated hunting. If Merlin was clumsy in Camelot he was ten times worse in the woods, the idiot could hardly walk three steps without tripping over a rock or a stick or something equally insignificant.

Merlin couldn't hurt a fly and he obviously didn't get any enjoyment from the trips but Arthur dragged him along anyway. Though he would never admit it he enjoyed Merlin's company and the rapport that they shared. The only thing that topped the thrill of the chase was Merlin's sarcastic commentary and Arthur wouldn't even think of leaving the boy behind.

Since he'd become king the number of hunting trips he'd been able to take had decreased dramatically, a development that Merlin had been over the moon about, but he was still able to take an occasional trip, leaving Gwen or one of the council members in charge for a few days.

He was grateful that the storm had passed but he needed to get away, he had always been a man of action, training the hardest, running the fastest; the first man into battle, and always the last one standing. He would rather be on patrol with the knights any day than sitting in a council meeting or reading reports, and yet that was exactly what occupied ninety percent of his time since he'd become king. To say he was happy about this trip would be an understatement, he was ecstatic and his bad mood dissipated like smoke in the breeze as he left his chambers.

…

Arthur found Gwen in the small council chamber behind the throne room listening to complaints from the serving staff. This was something she did every morning and the positive impact it'd had on the atmosphere in the castle was astonishing. Servants that felt their needs were being addressed were much happier and went about their duties with amazing efficiency. He waited in the back of the room until she finished then, closing the distance quickly; he leaned down to kiss her.

She pulled back and smiled knowingly, "What do you want?"

His eyes filled with mock indignation at the question, "I'm hurt, can't I kiss my wife just because I feel like it?"

"Well… you _could_," she stressed, "but you want something, I can see it in your eyes."

"You know me too well." Arthur sighed, "Would you mind looking after things for a few days while Merlin and I go hunting?"

"Of course not," Gwen replied, "You need a break, go have fun."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Arthur asked, kissing her again.

"Not recently." Gwen answered, humming contentedly against his lips.

"I'll have to make that up to you when I get back." Arthur said, pulling away reluctantly. "I told Merlin I'd meet him in the courtyard."

"Alright," Gwen sighed, "Go, I'll hold you to that when you get back."

"It'll only be a few days, I promise." He said.

She nodded, "Don't worry, everything will be fine here, go enjoy yourself."

He crossed to the door, glancing back one last time but the next servant had already been ushered in to present their complaint.

Gwen made a great queen and, if he was honest, she could probably run the kingdom better than he did; he placed great value on her opinion and he had no doubt that she would do fine in his absence.

…

After leaving Gwen he visited the armory, he would have told Merlin to pack his weapons for him but that probably would've added another hour and a half to the preparation time. For some reason his servant seemed to take five times as long as normal people to get things done. He picked up his sword and crossbow, sliding a dagger into his boot as an afterthought. When he arrived in the courtyard his servant was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

"MERLIN!" He yelled obnoxiously as he threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

For a minute nothing happened but then the frazzled servant hurried into view, arms piled high with supplies. He ran down the steps and Arthur could only watch in dismay as his foot caught a slight bump in the stone and he sprawled at the king's feet, packages bouncing everywhere.

Arthur crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he watched Merlin pick himself up with a sheepish grin. The servant gathered the supplies and packed them onto the horses, which he'd had the stable boys prepare in advance.

"All ready, Sire!" Merlin chirped, bowing low at the waist in mock deference.

"About time." Arthur huffed as he mounted his horse, "I'll never understand how you manage to spend so long packing!"

"It's a very complex process" Merlin began, "that involves organization, foresight, and efficiency. You should try it sometime, although I doubt you'd be any good at it."

"How in the world do _you_ do it then?" Arthur asked sarcastically, "I've seen you room, you're not organized by any stretch of the imagination and you're about as far from efficient as possible."

"Whatever." Merlin grunted as he heaved himself into the saddle. "Let's just get this over with."

"Don't be so pessimistic Merlin, we'll have loads of fun!" Arthur said, grinning.

"I'm sure." Merlin replied in a monotone, rolling his eyes before kicking his horse into a gallop and racing from the city.

…

They spent the next day tracking a deer, or, more accurately, Arthur spent the day tracking while Merlin tried, and failed, to keep up; by the time Arthur closed in on the buck Merlin was nowhere in sight. It was probably a good thing that Merlin had fallen behind because he usually managed to scare off the game before Arthur could get a proper shot.

Sighting the grazing buck down his bow, Arthur drew in a breath to steady his aim and rested a finger lightly on the trigger. He liked to take his time when he was hunting, studying his prey and striving for perfection with every shot. His goal for this deer was to pierce it directly through the eye; it would be dead before it hit the ground. Taking another breath he added pressure to the trigger and was preparing to let the arrow fly when something smashed into him from behind.

**THWACK**

The arrow lodged in a tree somewhere behind the deer and Arthur cursed as the animal bolted in alarm.

"_Mer_lin!" He yelled, almost screaming with frustration.

"What?"

"I've been tracking that deer all morning!"

"Sorry." Merlin replied with a shrug, "Maybe if you didn't insist that I carry all this stuff I'd be able to see where I was going."

"I don't know why I even bring you along, it's impossible to catch anything with you crashing through the woods like a wild boar!" Arthur muttered.

"Maybe you should just leave me at home next time." Merlin suggested hopefully.

"I'm seriously considering it." Arthur answered, shoving his bow into Merlin's already overloaded arms and stomping back towards their camp. "We might as well head back now, it's not like we'll catch anything.

…

Merlin and Arthur were on their way back to the castle when they heard shouts from the woods to their right. They stopped their horses in concern as a young man staggered out of the trees, clutching his stomach. His hands were red with blood and he only made it halfway to the road before he dropped to his knees, swaying for a moment, then slumping sideways.

Merlin vaulted from his horse with uncharacteristic agility and was at the man's side in seconds, rolling him over to check for a wound. Arthur wasn't far behind but he was completely unprepared for what happened next.

As soon as Merlin began to look for an injury the man opened his eyes, surging up with a flash of silver to plunge a dagger deep into the servant's side.

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**What do you think... who's the man? Why did he attack Merlin? What's Arthur going to do about it? And will Merlin be okay? Guess we'll find out in the next chapter! Please review.**


	4. The Attack

**The plot is really starting to pick up now!**

**For those of you that wanted to know about the title, I had narrowed it down to Contrary to Popular Belief or Best-Laid Plans but I wanted to tie it to the previous fic so using the word contrary seemed like a good way to do it. I really like the phrase because it implies that there is a commonly accepted idea that is false and several of those occur in the story (Morgana is not dead, Merlin has magic, etc.) Hope this answers your questions!**

**Enjoy the chapter :)**

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When Merlin saw the man fall he knew he had to help, he might not be the best physician in the world but he'd picked up a few things after living with Gaius for so many years and he had to try. He leapt from his horse and rushed to the man's side to find the wound, he needed to stop the bleeding immediately or the man would die.

As he rolled the man onto his back a slight sense of familiarity niggled at the back of his mind, he had seen this man before, but he pushed it away, choosing to focus instead on the task at hand. There was an alarming amount of blood covering the man's hands and staining his shirt but, try as he might, Merlin couldn't find the source.

The servant sat back on his heels in confusion, the sheer volume of blood suggested a fairly large wound but the man appeared to be untouched. Merlin leaned forward to examine him again, in more detail this time, but started when a cynical chuckle filled his mind.

"_Hello Emrys_." The man said, opening his eyes and lunging towards the servant.

"Mordred!" Merlin answered in surprise, the boy had grown significantly since he'd been trapped in Camelot and was hardly recognizable but there was no denying that voice. The druid boy was the only person Merlin knew, besides the Great Dragon, who had ever used telepathy to communicate with him.

"What-" he began but the rest of the question was lost in a gasp as a sharp, burning pain radiated up his side. He glanced down, blinking dazedly as he tried to understand what had just happened. There was something wet and warm running down his leg and he stared in shock at the dagger embedded in his flesh just above the hip.

"What… are you doing?" he finally managed to force out, gasping for air as he tried to wrestle the pain into submission.

"_Taking my revenge_." Mordred hissed, a maniacal gleam lighting his eyes as he leered at the servant.

"Revenge for what?!" Merlin exclaimed, crying out as Mordred twisted the dagger deeper, burying it to the hilt in his side.

"_You know._" Mordred answered cryptically.

"No," Merlin gasped, barely able to keep his eyes open through the pain, "I've done nothing but help you, you never would have escaped Camelot without me!"

He was starting to feel dizzy now, the blood pouring down his side at a frightening pace, he knew he needed to put pressure on the wound but it was all he could do to concentrate on Mordred's voice and, for some reason, it seemed imperative that he understand the reasoning behind the boy's attack.

"_But you didn't want to help did you?_" Mordred sneered maliciously, "_Where were you when we needed you? You were lying in your bed, ignoring my pleas for help!_"

"How do you…" Merlin began, staring at Mordred in disbelief, then, changing his mind, he tried again. "I _did_ help, I didn't leave you there, I came!"

"_It doesn't matter._" Mordred whispered, leaning closer to the servant and twisting the dagger again. "_You would have left me, a fellow magic user, to die and for that I will never forgive you!_"

"I'm sorry!" Merlin cried, collapsing bonelessly to the ground as Mordred removed the dagger with a squelch. "I'm sorry." He said again, this time in a whisper, before his eyes slid closed and the breath rushed from his body.

…

"MERLIN!" Arthur's anguished cry startled the birds from the surrounding trees and they took flight, cawing loudly in alarm.

He had been frozen in place, rooted to the spot in shock as the stranger that Merlin had tried to help stabbed the idiot in the side. This wasn't supposed to happen; Merlin never got hurt, the trip was supposed to be fun! His mind revolted, throwing up barriers to protect him from the information his eyes were sending but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't deny the awful truth, how horribly wrong things had turned in a matter of seconds.

How was it even possible that just a few minutes ago Merlin had been bantering back and forth with Arthur as they made their way back to Camelot and now, now he was gasping for breath, impaled on that stranger's knife. And the blood, there was so much blood, streaming down the boy's side and splattering noisily onto the grass below; that wasn't good, no one could lose that much blood and live.

Arthur was jerked roughly back to reality as the man twisted the dagger viciously, ripping a cry of pain from Merlin's throat.

"STOP!" Arthur commanded, surging towards the pair but he barely made it two feet before he crashed into something and fell to the ground dazed. Shaking it off he charged forward but was again stopped by the invisible barrier. Cursing in frustration he drew his sword and began hacking at the air in front of him; each blow produced a shower of blue sparks, but the wall held, showing no signs of weakening.

Arthur could see Merlin and the stranger having some sort of conversation but their words were drowned out by his frantic shouts. He grew increasingly more hysterical with each moment that passed; he needed to get to his servant, needed to save him from that evil man! The stupid invisible wall would give eventually, he thought, renewing his efforts to break through the barrier even as a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that even if he did manage to get through it would be far too late to save the boy.

"NO! MERLIN!" He shouted, watching helplessly as the man pulled the dagger out. Time seemed to slow as his servant slumped to the ground, hands clutching ineffectually at the wound even as his eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. He needed to get to Merlin now! He had to make sure his servant would be okay but he was too far away, too far away to tell if Merlin was still breathing, if his heart was still beating, if he was still alive.

Dropping the sword he pounded the barrier with his fists instead, smashing them against it until his knuckles bled because Merlin was not okay, he was pale, too pale. And the blood! There was so much blood and it was all over everything. This wasn't right, no, Merlin was not supposed to be lying there so still, he was supposed to be bumbling around tripping over things and annoying the living daylights out of Arthur. He was _not_ supposed to be so pale and the blood, Arthur couldn't get over how much blood there was; it seemed impossible that the human body even _contained_ that much blood!

It wasn't as if Arthur had never seen blood before, he had, loads of times. Accidents happened almost every day in training and he'd been to see Gaius with some kind of injury more times than he could count but this was different, this was Merlin. Merlin the idiot, Merlin his friend! Merlin who always went into battle at Arthur's side and never failed to come out alive, Merlin who called him a prat and wasn't afraid to speak his mind to the king. Merlin couldn't be lying there bleeding out in the middle of the woods because… well because he was Merlin!

Eventually realizing the futility of his struggle, Arthur dropped against the wall in defeat, sliding down to sit on the ground with his knees curled to his chest. He had failed, failed Merlin, failed himself, failed everything! He was supposed to protect the boy, he was the warrior, the fighter and he had been able to do nothing but watch in horror as events unfolded.

Helplessness was not something he was used to feeling and it was increasingly difficult to deal with. This was his fault! He should have been the one to help the man, not Merlin. He could have at least gone to the stranger's side with his servant, been there to defend him instead of leaving him completely unprotected, open and vulnerable to attack.

He punched the ground, blinking to clear his vision, which had suddenly gone fuzzy. He swept a hand across his face, leaving a streak of mud behind as he wiped away the… tears? No, it couldn't be tears, he didn't cry, he was the king of Camelot for goodness sake! Crying was something that girls and babies did, not full grown men, and certainly not him.

He was trying to hold himself together but he could feel his world collapsing, flying further apart with every second. He never wanted this, never imagined a world without Merlin, it had never occurred to him that Merlin wouldn't be at his side for the rest of his life.

Roaring in anger, Arthur sprung to his feet, beating against the wall with renewed vigor; he was not a quitter, he wouldn't give up, not on Merlin, not until that man was dead and Arthur had his faithful servant back at his side again. Looking up, Arthur stopped mid-swing and stared in shock at the empty clearing. Merlin was gone. The blood was still there, staining the grass bright red and the dagger gleamed in the sunlight from where it had been discarded, partially hidden behind a rock, but his servant was gone and so was the stranger.

Arthur backed up a few steps and ran towards the barrier, lowering his shoulder and bracing for the impact but it never came; instead of bouncing off the wall like he'd done before he stumbled forward, struggling to keep his balance as the momentum caught up with him. He turned back in confusion, holding his arms in front of him like a blind man, searching for the force that had contained him but it had vanished, just like Merlin.

Turning around again he dropped to his knees beside the bloodstained grass that was all that remained of his servant. The backs of his eyes started to burn and his sight blurred again but this time he didn't even try to deny the tears or hold them back, Merlin was gone and he had no idea where to begin looking for the servant, or even if his friend still lived.

He didn't think he would be able to return to Camelot and break the news. Gwaine would hate him for not being able to protect the boy and Gaius would be heartbroken, Merlin was like a son to him. But Gwen? Gwen would be the worst, she would never forgive him. Sure he was her husband but Merlin was special, he had been her friend since his first day in Camelot and he would always hold a piece of her heart.

Arthur got up and stomped around the clearing smashing his fists into trees as he went but he hardly felt the pain, nothing could take away the grief he felt over losing Merlin. He'd known the servant was important to him but he'd never imagined that it would hurt this much when he was gone. It was like a yawning chasm had been ripped open in his soul, exposing every emotion that he'd been taught to hide his entire life.

Arthur didn't know what to do, he was at a complete loss; where could he go from here, what more could he do? Sobbing at the helplessness of the situation he curled his hands into fists and pounded his thighs, releasing his frustration and grief into the sky with a guttural scream.

"MERLIN!"

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**This is not a death fic, I promise so please review and don't kill me!**


	5. Of Cunning and Futility

**I meant to get this up sooner but I got a nasty cold that's been going around, sorry for the delay. This chapter has a little of everyone in it, hope you enjoy!**

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After Merlin fell unconscious Morgana emerged from the trees where she had been hidden during the entire charade.

"That went better than expected." She said, nodding to Mordred with appreciation, "Now fix him before he bleeds to death, I'm far from finished with him."

Mordred's eyes glowed gold as he held a hand over Merlin's side and Morgana watched in fascination as the wound closed. She still couldn't believe the amount of skill Mordred had attained at healing, he was so young and yet he was able to do it with ease, bringing someone back from the brink of death without even breaking a sweat.

While Mordred worked she reveled in the success of her plan, Merlin's compassionate nature had been his downfall, he had never been able to resist helping a person in need so she had drenched Mordred in blood and sent him staggering towards the pair on horseback. The boy's acting had been commendable and she had known that neither Arthur or Merlin would recognize the druid on sight, he had been so small the last time they had seen him and the young man before her bore little resemblance to the child from long ago.

Finishing the spell Mordred stood, wandering into the woods as Morgana examined the wound, all that remained was a thin white scar above Merlin's hip, a twin to the one he had given her a little over a year ago. Smiling in satisfaction Morgana conjured a thin silver chain, wrapping it tightly around the limp servant, insurance, in case he came around before she had made her escape.

Grabbing Merlin's bony wrist and calling Mordred to her, Morgana glanced around one last time. Her barrier had remained intact despite Arthur's best efforts and she stared in disgust at her half brother who was sitting on the ground pounding his fist into the earth. He wasn't worthy to sit on the throne of Camelot and soon she would replace him, it was her right. Under her command Camelot would prosper and magic would once again flow freely through the land.

A flurry of motion caught her attention and she pushed her magic out, dragging Merlin and Mordred from the clearing and through the tunnel she had opened just as Arthur resumed his ineffectual pounding on the wall. In the year since she had escaped from Camelot, after her disastrous attempt to claim the throne, she had perfected the art of teleportation and now she was able to do it on command, even with others in tow. She need only make physical contact with another person to rip them from their surroundings and transport them with her; this was the skill that her entire plan had hinged on, the ability to make a clean escape.

So many of her other plots had been foiled at the last minute because of her need to retreat but that was no longer a problem. Teleportation was by far the most useful skill she possessed, not only did it allow her to appear and disappear at will but it was impossible to track. Arthur could scour the kingdom for years in search of his errant manservant but it would all be in vain, he would never find Merlin; the boy was hers now and she intended to have her revenge.

…

It was there, as Arthur sat on the ground too emotionally drained to move that he remembered the warning, that man who had appeared during the storm. It seemed like years had passed since that night but in reality it had only been two days… the man had said something would happen in two days. Arthur grasped at the fading memory, trying to hold it in place long enough to remember the man's words but they slipped from the tips of his fingers, flitting away the minute he touched them.

He should have paid more attention, placed more importance on the event but it had been such a strange occurrence that he had dismissed it as a dream when he woke in the morning. He hadn't thought it mattered but now he wished with all his being that he had heeded the warning because Merlin was missing, probably dead, and Arthur couldn't live with the fact that he could have prevented it, it was his fault.

Silent tears began to leak from the corners of his swollen eyes, leaving glistening trails as they slid down his cheeks and splashed onto the ground below. He had cried more today than any other day in his life and ordinarily he would have been embarrassed by his appalling lack of composure but today he found it hard to care. Once he had let the first tear fall it was like a dam had burst and he couldn't hold them back. He didn't know what to do, how to fix this, so, in a broken whisper, he did something that he'd rarely ever done before: asked for help.

He didn't expect an answer, didn't know what he expected, he just needed to feel like he wasn't alone, like everything wasn't resting on his shoulders. He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize someone else had entered the clearing until a man jumped from the tree above, landing in front of the king, crouched like a cat waiting to pounce.

Arthur had his sword out and pointed at the intruder in seconds, which was a testament to the speed of his instincts because he was still distracted by his thoughts and hadn't grasped the entirety of the situation yet. The man's eyes pulsed a brighter green than they already were and Arthur's sword went spinning across the clearing, dragging the king away from his thoughts completely.

"You!" Arthur yelled as he focused fully on the man before him.

"You failed to heed my warning." The man growled accusatorily.

"I know!" Arthur cried, voice cracking as tears threatened to overflow again, "I'm sorry, just please, tell me what to do, I have to save him!"

"Why should I believe that you are willing to follow my advice this time?" The man asked, eyes glinting behind the tendrils of hair that shadowed his face.

"I didn't know! Please," Arthur pleaded, "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" The man questioned, staring deep into the king's bloodshot eyes.

"Yes, anything. I swear." Arthur vowed solemnly, holding the man's intense gaze with his own.

The man burst out laughing, rolling around on the ground with mirth as his rasping gasps filled the air. "You swear?" He asked once he'd regained control of his breathing, a hint of a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't believe you."

"You don't believe me?" Arthur asked, emotions flitting rapidly across his face. Despair, grief, incredulity, and finally anger. "I am the King of Camelot, my word is law!" He yelled, eyes flashing dangerously, "Who do you think you are anyway?"

The man sobered instantly, drawing himself to his full height, which, surprisingly, was quite substantial; Arthur had to tilt his head back to meet the man's gaze.

"Who am I?" The man thundered, "_Who_ am _I_?" His entire demeanor changed as he swept the hair off his forehead, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at Arthur as if the king were nothing more than an annoying insect buzzing around his ear.

Arthur suddenly felt like he was five years old again, standing before his father about to get a lecture and he did not like it, he did not like it at all.

"Yes," He said, standing as tall as possible and crossing his own arms over his chest, "who are you?"

"I" answered the man "am Dominus Adrianus, the Keeper of Secrets, Master of all Knowledge, and Friend of Shadows. To me much is revealed and it is my duty to visit those with whom the gods have deigned to intercede."

A beat passed in silence as Arthur adjusted to the fact that he was no longer the one in control of the conversation and that the balance of power had shifted to the stranger before responding, "If you are truly the master of all knowledge then you know where Merlin is and you can help me find him right?" He fought to keep his voice level but the statement came out as more of a desperate plea than a rational question.

"That is not my secret to give," the man responded, "I have already delivered the message I was sent to impart. Remember my words and you may yet return the boy to safety. I pray for all our sakes that this is so, the one you call Merlin is of more importance than anyone dares imagine."

"Wait!" Arthur called, a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but the man was already swinging away through the trees, flying through the air as he grabbed and released each limb like a monkey.

…

Merlin returned to consciousness slowly, lingering in that dreamy world between sleep and wakefulness for what seemed like hours. He was dead, he knew he was dead, Mordred had stabbed him with a knife but that was okay because now he would be with Freya and his father and everyone who had died for him.

He allowed a contented sigh to escape his lips as he relaxed, he didn't have to worry anymore, didn't have to fight off any more evil sorcerers or save Arthur from ravenous magical creatures that were out to destroy Camelot. Finally, finally it was over, he hadn't even realized how tired he had become but now that the weight had been lifted from his shoulders he discovered just how heavy the burden of his destiny had been. A lazy smile spread across his face as he marveled at how light he felt, as if he could float away on a gentle breeze.

Just as Merlin began to delight in his newfound freedom the dreamy state fell away and he became aware of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the prickling pins and needles sensation making its way up his legs. He tried to move them but found that he couldn't, something was wrapped painfully tight around his body, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides. He grunted in frustration, tensing his muscles as he tried to relieve the pressure but it refused to give and he fell back to the floor with a sigh.

He had to admit he was slightly disappointed that he wasn't dead, he had obviously been captured by another deranged sorcerer and he wasn't really looking forward to making an escape. Being held in captivity was never pleasant but this was already one of his worst experiences, the cold dampness of the stone floor had soaked through his clothes, chilling him to the bone, and the air was rank, heavy with the scent of rot and decay. He opened his eyes as wide as they would go, straining them desperately into the blackness but not even the tiniest pinprick of light reached him.

Merlin sighed again, resigning himself to his fate, and began trying to piece together what had happened. He remembered Mordred and the dagger but he must have fallen unconscious at some point because he had no idea how he'd ended up here or why he hadn't bled to death. In fact, now that he thought about it, there was no pain coming from the wound at all. He wiggled around, trying to feel the place where the dagger had pierced his side, but gave up after a few minutes of failed attempts. He couldn't move, whoever had bound him made sure of that. This was ridiculous, he was the most powerful sorcerer in the world and he was lying here on the floor, trussed up like a chicken.

Rolling his eyes at his stupidity he reached for his magic, letting it uncurl and fill his body from his feet to the tips of his fingers. The air around him hummed with power and his skin tingled with the need to release it. He closed his eyes, focusing on channeling all the energy into the chains that bound him.

Almost immediately they began to glow orange, burning thin lines into his skin wherever they touched. Gasping, Merlin tried to draw the magic back but he couldn't, the chains, which had obviously been enchanted, latched onto it, sucking it steadily from his body. He tensed, trying not to cry out as the chains constricted, wrapping tighter and tighter and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Eventually he was able to wrest control of his magic back and he lay, panting on the floor, struggling to breath against the weight of the chains crushing his chest.

He heard a door slam somewhere in the distance and began to panic, this was not good; whoever had captured him knew about his magic and had taken precautions so he would not be able to escape. He held his breath, listening with increasing trepidation as echoing footsteps drew near. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock and blinding light flooded the room as a door creaked open. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the brightness until his vision adjusted then, cracking one eye, peered out cautiously.

He was lying on what appeared to be the floor of a dungeon and a woman stood in the doorway outlined from behind by a flickering torch in the hallway. Merlin squinted at the figure, trying to make out her features in the gloom but a large cloak concealed her face. For a moment they just stared, each one sizing the other up, then a low chuckle burst from the woman's throat, seeming to linger for much longer than it should have in the thick air of the dungeon. The chuckle progressed to a full-throated laugh, then cut off abruptly.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen." She said, striding across the room to stand over Merlin's prone form.

There was a flash of gold from deep within the recesses of her hood and the chains fell away. Merlin tried to push himself up but his tingling arms refused to support his weight and he fell helplessly back to the floor. His nerves protested the sudden rush of blood as his circulation was restored and it felt as if tiny knives were stabbing him all over.

Almost before he knew what was happening the woman was bending over him, snapping something cold and heavy around his wrists. He tried to protest, flailing his arms wildly, but the words got stuck in his throat and he coughed instead. Something was pushing down on his magic, locking it away deep inside him and he didn't like it. He felt naked without the comforting warmth coursing through his veins.

He pushed back, eyes blazing with the effort but as soon as he resisted a crippling pain lanced through his body. Wave after wave of fire followed by ice raced through his nerves until his head felt like it would split open. Pulling his knees to his chest he huddled on his side, gripping his skull until it passed. When he finally became aware of his surroundings again he realized that the woman was chuckling darkly, a sinister sound that put Merlin on edge and raised goosebumps on his arms.

"It is futile to resist." She said, "not even _you_ can escape from these."

Merlin struggled to hold down the panic he was feeling over the absence of his magic. "Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded, glaring up at her from his place on the floor.

The woman waved her hand, watching as Merlin was pulled up by the wrists until their eyes were level. "I would have thought that was obvious." She said, pulling back her hood to reveal her face.

Disgust filling his eyes Merlin spat her name like a curse. "Morgana."

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**Please review! I live for your feedback, whether it's a compliment or criticism so please take the time to write something, even if it's just a few words.**


	6. The Plan

**My internet has been off and on all day so I was finally able to upload this. Just a side note, all of my writing is unbeta'ed so if you find any mistakes/contradictions please let me know. Enjoy the chapter!**

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Disgust filling his eyes Merlin spat her name like a curse. "Morgana."

"No need to be so nasty Merlin, really, we're going to be spending a lot of time together and you don't want to get on my bad side."

"What do you want?" he asked, squinting through the half-light, trying to learn as much about his prison as possible before it was plunged into darkness again.

"Camelot." She breathed, emerald eyes burning with desire.

"Well sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you with that." Merlin quipped, "I'm just a servant you know."

"I know quite well what you are Emrys," Morgana shouted, "and if you want to live you will do exactly as I say!"

This was bad, this was very bad, not only did Morgana know he had magic; she knew that he was Emrys. He didn't have any secrets left; all of his cards had been involuntarily laid on the table. He racked his brain, searching for something that he could use to his advantage, anything at all, but came up empty. This time Morgana's plot was foolproof, airtight, and he knew he would never be able to escape by himself because his magic was completely useless. Everything depended on Arthur now.

Morgana was still talking so he turned his attention back to her, hoping she hadn't noticed his lapse in concentration.

"… want to know why in the world you insist on protecting that insufferable brother of mine, then, when you are so weak you will do anything for me, you will bind your magic to mine and make me the most powerful sorceress in the world! No one will be able to stand before our combined power and Camelot will be mine at last."

"Wow, you're ambitious." Merlin smirked, "What makes you think I'll do all that?"

"I have my ways." She answered cryptically then, gathering the folds of her cloak, she swept from the dungeon with an evil laugh that left Merlin feeling a little more worried than he cared to admit. Arthur had better come rescue him soon because whatever Morgana had planned it certainly wasn't going to be pleasant.

…

After the confrontation with the seer Arthur decided to head back to Camelot, he wasn't doing Merlin any good sitting around doing nothing and his eventual return to the city was inevitable. As he neared the gates his pace got slower and slower, he was dreading this, possibly more than anything else in his life, but he had never been one to shy away from duty so he kicked his horse and rode across the field to the castle at a brisk trot, bracing himself for the fireworks to come.

Shouts greeted him as he rode into the courtyard, leading Merlin's empty horse and, within seconds, Gwen had appeared at the top of the stairs. Rushing towards Arthur she looked from her husband's muddy face to Merlin's empty saddle and went pale.

"What happened?" She asked, gaze lingering for a long moment on the blood dripping from Arthur's knuckles before returning to his face.

"We were deceived and ambushed in the woods." He replied, noticing her scrutiny and attempting to clean his hands on his pants.

"Where's Merlin?" she asked suspiciously, passion setting her liquid brown eyes on fire.

"I don't know." He answered, eyes pleading, begging her not to hate him, to understand.

"No! Arthur." She said, eyes shiny with tears as she stared at her husband in disbelief.

Suddenly Arthur couldn't do it anymore, couldn't pretend to be the strong, unbreakable King and he let his shoulders slump forward in defeat. "I tried, Gwen. I… I did _everything_ I could." He held out his bloodied knuckles, begging her to understand, "There was nothing I could do, it was magic. And then he just… disappeared. I don't know what to do Gwen, I don't know what to do and it's scaring me."

Gwen's expression softened immediately and she snaked her arms around Arthur's waist, burying her face in his chest to hide her sobs. "You have to find him." She mumbled against his shirt, "You have to bring him home!"

"I know." He choked out, blinking his eyes rapidly to keep back the tears that were threatening to fall, "I know."

…

Arthur strode purposefully through the halls to Gaius' chambers, intent on his task. He was determined to brave the physician's raised eyebrows and condemning stare because the man deserved to know that Merlin was missing. Rounding the corner, Arthur was startled out of his thoughts when he crashed into Sir Leon.

"Sire!" Leon exclaimed with a small bow, "I didn't know you had returned from your hunt, it was successful I presume?"

"What?" Arthur replied distractedly, seeming to stare through the knight, then continued without waiting for an answer, "I want you to gather Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival, then wait for me in the council chambers. I will meet you there as soon as I can."

Leon started to respond but Arthur was already halfway down the corridor. Staring after his king in confusion, Leon shrugged then hurried off to find his friends.

…

Arthur paused outside Gaius' door and took a deep breath, he had always been a little intimidated by the physician and, even now that he was king, he felt like a child during most of their conversations. Taking another breath he opened the door and walked in. Gaius was sitting at the table, mixing something in a small pot, with his back to the door.

"Merlin, I'm glad you're back," the physician began, "there's some sort of illness making its way through the lower town and I'm going to need all the help I can get."

Arthur paused, unsure how to respond; every bone in his body was telling him to flee and let someone else break the news to Gaius but he held his ground. He would not run and he would not cry, he'd done enough of that already today; he was the king, not some sniveling toddler and it was about time he started acting like it. Squaring his shoulders he cleared his throat.

Gaius spun around on the bench at the sound, eyebrows shooting to his hairline when he saw Arthur.

"Sire! Did you need something?" Gaius asked, wondering briefly if the king knew he had mud on his face.

"No," Arthur said, then, changing his mind he held out his battered knuckles, "actually, could you take a look at these?"

Gaius grabbed the king by the wrists, dragging him over to the bench and shoving him down. "What did you do, get in a fist fight with a cactus?!" He exclaimed.

"No…" Arthur answered hesitantly, then "What's a cactus?"

"A cactus is…" Gaius began, "never mind, it's not important. How did this happen?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the bench as Gaius wiped the mud off his face, then began washing the dried blood from his hands. "I might have punched a few trees, among other things."

"Trees! Good grief Arthur what were you thinking?" Gaius asked, pausing in his ministrations to fix the king with an expectant stare."

Arthur stilled, holding Gaius gaze and the physician almost flinched at the amount of pain and grief he saw swirling in the depths of the young king's blue eyes. He sat back, desperately needing to know, yet dreading Arthur's next words.

"It's Merlin." The king said, rushing on before Gaius had a chance to respond, "We were riding and this man came out of the woods, he was bleeding and Merlin wanted to help him. Then there was a dagger and it happened so fast! I tried to save him but there was magic and the next time I looked up he was gone."

As Arthur's words died away the silence in the room was so complete that he could hear a fly buzzing lazily somewhere above his head. He stared at his hands, unable to look Gaius in the eye, not wanting to acknowledge the hopelessness of the situation or the accusation he felt sure he would see in the physician's eyes.

"Is he…" Gaius breathed, shock and fear coloring his tone as he trailed off, unwilling to voice the end of his question. Death was so final and it didn't belong in the same sentence as Merlin. Merlin who was so full of life and joy, Merlin who he might never see again, Merlin who was like the son he'd never had.

At this Arthur's head shot up, "No! At least I don't think so, there's still time."

The tension left Gaius' body in a rush and he slumped against the table, lowering his head to his hands.

"I'm going to find him, Gaius." Arthur promised, laying a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder before walking to the door. When he reached it he glanced back "Don't worry, I'll bring him back."

…

As he made his way to the council chambers Arthur thought about his promise, it was true, he would bring Merlin back or he would die trying. He would not stop searching for the boy until he was found because Merlin was important, Arthur _needed_ Merlin and failure was not an option.

Arthur couldn't help smiling, despite the seriousness of the situation, when he entered the small room. Gwaine was obviously drunk and he was standing on the tabletop attempting to dance while singing very loudly and extremely off-key. Leon was kneeling on one of the chairs with a death grip on Gwaine's ankle, yelling at him to get down before the king saw; and Elyan and Percival were standing off to the side, struggling to hold in their laughter as they watched the situation unfold.

It was so typical that Arthur stood at the edge of the room for a moment, watching. Gwaine, ever the comedian, always found a way to lighten the mood, most often by making a complete fool out of himself. Leon, on the other hand, was much more reserved. The older knight acted like a mother hen, corralling all the younger knights and trying, although the effort was usually futile, to keep them out of trouble.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat pointedly. Leon whipped his head around, eyes wide and promptly fell of the chair in his haste to stand. Arthur watched, a grin creeping across his face, as the knight picked himself up and smoothed his hair back in an attempt to save the last shreds of his tattered dignity.

"I did as you requested, Sire." Leon said stiffly, shooting a disapproving glare at Gwaine, who was now mimicking everything the older knight did.

"Thank you Leon." Arthur said, motioning for everyone to take a seat. "I have a matter of great importance to dis-"

He was interrupted by a loud sigh from Gwaine who had opted to lie down in the middle of the table instead of finding a chair. "Can you make this quick, princess, I need to get back to the tavern." He slurred, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light.

"You are perfectly welcome to go back to the tavern any time," Arthur began, "but if you wish to have a part in rescuing Merlin I suggest you sit in a chair and listen."

"What happened to Merlin?!" Gwaine shouted as he jumped to his feet, drawing his sword and spinning around wildly as if he expected to find the culprit somewhere in the room.

"SIT DOWN!" Arthur shouted, finally loosing his temper in the face of Gwaine's drunken antics.

Sobering instantly the chastised knight sheathed his weapon and sat docilely in the chair Arthur had indicated.

"As I was saying," the king began again, "Merlin has disappeared and we are going to find him. Now, here's the plan…"

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**I realize there wasn't very much Merlin in this chapter but don't worry, I'm planning for him to make a lengthy appearance next chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	7. Of Secrets and Despair

**I hope you're having a wonderful day and that reading this chapter of my story will make it even better... Enjoy!**

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After Morgana left, Merlin lay alone in the dark for what seemed like days, unable to move far because of the charmed bracelets chaining his wrists to the ceiling. Morgana had left enough slack in the chain for him to sit but doing so forced his arms above his head and it was extremely uncomfortable. Just when he was sure that Morgana had changed her mind about needing his help and left him there to perish alone he heard footsteps in the corridor. He lifted his head weakly off his chest trying to hide his vulnerability as the door opened with a loud creak.

"I see you still haven't managed to escape my chains." Morgana said haughtily. "I really would have expected more from the great Emrys, no wonder it took me so long to realize that it was you."

Merlin, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an answer simply glared at her.

"Arthur will come for me," he said, voice filled with conviction, "and when he does you will be sorry you ever laid a hand on me. He has changed since you left Camelot, he's no longer the boy you once knew but a man who won't hesitate to run you through. He will show no mercy and give no quarter so I suggest you let me go now, while you still have the chance.

"You put so much faith in Arthur, but if you trust him so much why haven't you shared your little secret with him… hmm?" Morgana asked, punctuating the question with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

Merlin fell silent at her query. It was true that he was fearful of revealing his secret but only because he didn't want to ruin their friendship, Arthur had been betrayed by almost everyone who was close to him and Merlin didn't want to add his name to that list.

At first he'd hidden his magic because he feared for his life, then it was because he didn't want to make Arthur choose between him and Uther but, now that Uther was dead, he really had no excuse. After so many years of silence and secrecy he just didn't know how to broach the subject, how to tell Arthur that he'd been using magic for years, right under the king's nose; lying about a huge part of his life to all of his best friends. Morgana would never understand his reasoning so he didn't make a sound, simply continued to glare at her.

"But then I guess you always were a coward," Morgana sneered, trying to get a rise out of the servant, "maybe you never cared about Arthur at all, you've probably been hiding in Camelot, biding your time for all these years so you can seize control of the kingdom when the time is right."

At this Merlin leapt to his feet, magic reacting instinctively to the insults, lashing out at Morgana only to be stopped by the bracelets. His legs collapsed uselessly beneath him, shoulders wrenching painfully as the current raced through his body, setting his nerve endings on fire and leaving him gasping for air.

A smile grew on Morgana's face as he slowly raised his head, the anger in his gaze now overshadowed by pain. "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin" she crooned "you're only making it worse for yourself." With a flick of her wrist the chain began to rise further into the darkness pulling Merlin up until he could barely touch the floor with his toes leaving him completely vulnerable.

Reaching up she gently ran her hand down the side of his face, tracing the line of his prominent cheekbone, then brought her hand down to caress his neck. Merlin swallowed nervously as she reached behind him to untie his neckerchief then froze as he heard the soft snick of a dagger being withdrawn from the folds of her cloak. She pressed the flat of the blade to his bare neck, the cold metal leeching all the warmth from his skin. She seemed to contemplate slitting his throat but then decide against it as she pulled the dagger away, placing it instead on his cheek. She again traced his high cheekbones, this time with the point of her dagger. Merlin hardly dared breathe, afraid that any movement would force the blade into his skin.

Morgana was very close to him now, her face barely six inches from his; staring into his fear-filled eyes she smiled. "Do you know what it feels like to have your skin stripped from the bone Merlin?" she asked.

"No" he whispered, wondering what the point of this torture was. "Just tell me what you want." he pleaded.

"Oh but I already have, you can start by telling me why you are so eager to protect that travesty of a king you claim to serve."

At the mention of the king Merlin's defiance returned. "Arthur will be a great king one day, he will unite Albion and return magic to the land. Under his guidance will come a time of peace and prosperity unlike any before or after until the end of time. Years from now men will look back on the reign of King Arthur and declare it the best that Albion, no, the _world,_ has ever seen. It will be great Morgana, far greater than anything we could ever hope for or imagine, and it is my destiny to be by his side, to shape him into the man he's meant to be, the man he _needs_ to be to carry such a heavy burden."

The servant's voice rang with conviction and Morgana was taken aback by the intensity in his clear blue eyes. She had known Merlin and Arthur were close but had never guessed at this level of commitment. For a single moment her entire world turned on its side and she felt a tinge of regret and something else, fear, because if what Merlin said was true then she was meddling in things far beyond her control. But then the moment passed; she came to her senses and realized that this was _Arthur_ they were talking about, there was no way that the selfish brat she'd grown up with would ever mature enough to become such a powerful king, he just didn't have it in him.

"You can't be serious." Morgana said, raising her eyebrow again as she allowed skepticism to creep into her tone, "You truly believe all that about _Arthur_? I mean really Merlin, I always knew you were sentimental but I never thought you were one to blindly follow anyone, especially my little brother, with such devotion."

"Just because you're not capable of loyalty doesn't mean the rest of us aren't" Merlin hissed with a glare. "I would gladly die a thousand times at your hand before betraying Arthur; you will never get what you want from me, NEVER!"

…

Arthur rode recklessly through the woods, flying over the ground, heedless of the branches clawing at his face or the frantic cries from his knights, begging him to slow down. He leaned forward until he was stretched out along the mare's neck, silently urging her to go faster with his body because he'd spent far too long in Camelot and time was of the essence. He didn't know how long Merlin would, or could, hold out with such a severe injury but every minute that passed decreased their chances of finding the servant alive.

Reaching the clearing he slid from his horse and looked around for the knights but they were nowhere to be found. He sighed, the sense of urgency making him impatient.

"Come on," he muttered, tapping his foot against the ground, "where are you?"

He was about to go back and see what was taking the others so long when Leon burst into the clearing looking flustered. "Sire! Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Am _I_ alright?! Why don't _you_ answer that! Merlin has disappeared into thin air and you have the gall to ask if _I'm _alright? What about _him_?!"

"I saw the blood and was concerned that you were injured Sire, I meant no disrespect."

"Blood?" Inquired Arthur in a tone laced with confusion.

Leon pointed towards his hands and Arthur glanced down in surprise. He hadn't even noticed but his knuckles had started bleeding again. "They're fine." He said waving it off.

Just then Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan rode into the clearing and, jumping off their horses, demanded to know what the rush was. Arthur explained the attack in further detail, acting out everything that had happened, then ordered them to search the clearing and the surrounding woods for clues as to the identity of the attacker or where Merlin had gone.

Arthur and his knights searched the clearing three times before Percival spotted the silver pendant lying half-buried in the grass. Arthur picked it up and turned it over several times before letting out a long sigh full of fear and despair.

"What is it?" Elyan and Gwaine asked at the same time.

"I recognize this pendent." Arthur said, bowing his head to hide the emotions playing across his face from his knights.

"Will it help us find Merlin?" asked Gwaine hopefully.

"It belongs to Morgana." Arthur replied dejectedly.

"Are you certain?" Percival asked, fixing the king with an inquisitive stare.

Arthur held the large knight's gaze for a long moment before nodding "Yes, I would know it anywhere, my father gave it to her as a present on her fourteenth birthday and she has worn it ever since."

There was a collective intake of breath as the meaning of Arthur's words sank in then silence descended on the clearing as each of Merlin's friends tried to come to terms with the information. Knowing Morgana there was little hope that Merlin would be alive when they found him, if they were even able to find him at all.

Arthur had known it wouldn't be easy to find Merlin after he'd vanished into thin air but he had hoped that the clearing would yield some hint as to the whereabouts of his manservant. It was almost worse knowing that Morgana had taken the boy because, if there was one thing he'd learned about his sister in recent years, it was that she was very good at hiding. If she didn't want to be found it would be nearly impossible to do so. In fact, in the years since she had revealed her true nature Arthur and his knights had mounted multiple searches and had yet to find even a trace of the witch until she chose to reveal herself.

Fear spread through Arthur's body, paralyzing him, as he considered the possibility that he would _never_ find Merlin but he quickly dismissed the thought. They had always managed to foil Morgana's plans in the past, why should this one be any different? Then there was the other question, the one that had been plaguing him off and on since Morgana's attack last year: why would she want Merlin dead?

The breakdown that Merlin had suffered after injuring Morgana was not something he could easily forget. The sight of his happy-go-lucky manservant sobbing and blaming himself for Morgana's betrayal had been so wrong, so out of character, that the scene would be forever imprinted in Arthur's memory. He felt like he was missing something, something big that would tie all the unexplainable events of the past few years together. Sometimes he felt like the truth was within his grasp but it always eluded him at the last minute and he was growing tired of being kept in the dark. He _would_ find Merlin and when he did the boy was going to have some serious questions to answer, there had been enough secrecy, it was time for the truth to come to light.

Shaking himself from his stupor Arthur glanced around at his despondent knights; they couldn't lose hope, to do so would be to admit defeat and that was against the king's very nature. He had promised to bring Merlin home and he would, no matter how long it took or how far he had to search, he would return the boy to his rightful place in Camelot, at his side.

Arthur strode to his horse and turned to look at his scattered knights, grim determination evident in the strong line of his clenched jaw and the tense set of his shoulders. "We can't give up hope," he cried "we will search the land until the witch Morgana is found, and this time she will not escape justice!"

That being said the knights mounted their horses and followed their king through the woods until they came to the edge of a small village.

"This looks as good a place as any to start our search" sighed Arthur, sending a silent plea that they would not be too late to save Merlin winging into the bright blue sky because, despite his gruff façade, he didn't think he'd be able to make it through a single day without the bright smile of his lovable, cheery, irreplaceable manservant to accompany him.

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**I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by Sunday night so please review and motivate me to write faster!**


	8. The Desperate Plea

**Due to the mind-blowing number of reviews I am continuing to get for this story I have decided to update early. I can't give a big enough THANK YOU to those who continue to give me feedback, just know that you wonderful, amazing, fantastic, marvelous people are what keeps me writing and please continue to review. This chapter is a bit dark... you have been warned.**

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"Join me," Morgana commanded, "together we will be powerful enough to restore magic to Camelot."

"No!" Merlin cried, gathering all the conviction he had and putting it emphatically into that one syllable.

"You leave me no choice then" Morgana said, shaking her head sadly, but a smile was quickly overtaking her features as she thought about hurting Merlin. She still hated him for his lies; if he had only shared his secret with her in the beginning she would not have felt so alone, so scared, when she first discovered her magic. She had to admit that he had tried to help, sending her to the druids had been a good idea, but neither of them had anticipated the consequences of that decision. Merlin had unwittingly led Arthur and his knights straight to the druid camp and Morgana held the boy personally responsible for the slaughter that followed.

And, as if the lies were not enough, he had tried to poison her as well! He had been one of her closest friends and she had trusted him with her life but he had betrayed that trust when he tried to kill her. She'd had no idea that she was the source of the enchantment putting everyone in Camelot to sleep but if she'd known she would have drunk the poison willingly to save her friends. It was the fact that he'd deceived her again, going behind her back to save the city, not trusting her enough to tell her how to break the enchantment, that made her angry. His treachery was too much to forgive, he would pay for what he had done and she was going to thoroughly enjoy making him scream.

Merlin tensed, his entire body going rigid, as her dagger bit into his cheek next to his ear, pressing down until it hit bone. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and it took all his willpower to keep from crying out. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face as he stared defiantly at Morgana. Then she flicked her wrist and all he could think about was the pain; he vaguely heard someone screaming and realized that it was himself.

In his disconnected state he thought it was strange that the cut should burn with so much heat when the knife had been so cold to the touch. Then he allowed himself to sink into the blackness that was reaching for him with open arms; at least there he could escape for a few minutes. The last thing he saw before the darkness overcame him was Morgana gripping the bloodstained knife, an evil gleam in her sparkling green eyes. If this was any indication of how the rest of his stay was going to go Arthur couldn't come soon enough because he had a lot more pain to look forward to.

…

Morgana watched as her knife cut a clean trail down Merlin's cheek, exposing the bone. The servant screamed and went rigid as blood poured from the wound, arching his back and struggling to turn away from the blade. She smiled because now Merlin would have an extremely visible reminder of his time here, if he survived. She doubted he would but it gave her pleasure to mar that perfect face she hated so much.

She took a step back, watching as Merlin collapsed limply, unconscious she decided, hanging all his weight from his wrists and wrenching his shoulders even more. That would be painful when he woke up, and this was only the beginning. Arthur would never find her here and she would have as long as she wanted or needed to torture the boy.

It would be so much fun to watch him slowly give up all hope that the king would come for him, growing a little more despondent every day until he was sitting in the palm of her hand, anxious to do her bidding. Her plan was flawless, nothing could possibly go wrong, she had been designing it for close to a year and now she was finally getting to carry it out. This was decidedly the best day of her life so far and she had to struggle to contain her enthusiasm as she thought about the days to come with anticipation, it could only get better from here, her plan was coming together exactly as she'd hoped.

…

Arthur and his knights searched the kingdom, riding from village to village, asking everyone they met if they had seen Morgana. The despair that had gained a foothold in the clearing continued to grow, permeating Arthur's thoughts and creeping into his actions, as time after time the answer was the same, she had not been seen, not anywhere.

The king's brow was permanently creased with worry and frustration, his eyes cold as ice. Without Merlin by his side the world seemed to lose its color, its vibrancy, as if his manservant had been what made it so brilliant to begin with. He rarely ate and when he did the food was tasteless, bland and unappetizing. He hadn't smiled since the day Merlin had disappeared and no one could do anything to lighten his mood because he couldn't bring himself to be happy while the boy remained in Morgana's clutches.

They had been away from Camelot for three weeks, scouring the kingdom for any sign of Merlin but, eventually, even Arthur had to admit that he didn't know what to do next. He didn't want to return to the castle without the boy but there was nowhere left to search; they had been through every town, every village, every square inch of forest with a fine-tooth comb. He was beginning to think that Merlin wasn't in Camelot at all; maybe Morgana had taken him to another kingdom, there were plenty that would do anything in their power to see the city fall.

He sighed dejectedly, giving a soft humorless laugh, it wouldn't matter if Merlin was in another kingdom anyway; he was powerless to search beyond Camelot's borders. The treaties he held with the neighboring lands were very delicate and had been years in the making; to step even one foot over the boundary would be to risk a war of epic proportions and that would benefit no one. Seeing no other option he rounded up his knights and headed home, hoping against hope that Merlin had turned up while he had been gone and would be waiting for him when he got back.

…

Merlin awoke to a wave of pain, it felt as if his shoulders had been wrenched from their sockets and the metal cuffs bit into his wrists causing blood to ooze down his arms, this blood mixed with that from his face to paint his chest a gruesome shade of red. That was when he realized he no longer wore a shirt; Morgana must have taken it off while he was unconscious.

He felt naked without his shirt on and the absence of clothing made him uncomfortable. No matter how warm the day or arduous the task Merlin's shirt remained firmly on his body; this was something Arthur and the knight's took no end of amusement from, teasing him repeatedly about being as shy as a girl. It wasn't that he was embarrassed, although the fact that he could count every rib beneath his nearly translucent skin wasn't really something to be proud of, it was more because he didn't want to answer the questions that would surely arise if he did remove it.

Questions like why the king's manservant, who was supposed to be so naïve and innocent, would have enough scars to match even the most grizzled of Camelot's war veterans. The day Arthur saw his scars would be the end of life as Merlin knew it because his secret would be revealed, there was no way he could pass the maze of grooves and ridges that marred his skin off as insignificant and Arthur wouldn't stop until he got the truth.

Just then a draft of cool air blew through the dungeon causing him to shiver, it was followed by the echoing slam of a door somewhere in the distance. Tensing his muscles he waited for Morgana, glaring at the door to his cell in preparation. He was not disappointed, Morgana swept gracefully into the room glancing at him briefly before walking to the corner and uncovering a table full of knives and daggers of varying lengths. Merlin shut his eyes steeling himself for the pain to come; he must not break, he couldn't let Arthur down.

Morgana started a fire in the corner of the cell with a wave of her hand and Merlin couldn't help but feel a bit of relief as a wave of warmth washed over him, at least he wouldn't be cold anymore. She slowly lowered a large flat knife into the flames, never breaking eye contact with the captive manservant, a satisfied smirk creeping its way over her features as he realized her intentions.

Merlin's eyes widened and he breathed in short sharp gasps through his nose, trying to tamp down the panic that was clawing at his chest, begging to be let free. He wanted to scream and fight against the chains, anything to get as far away from Morgana as possible, but he didn't because he knew it was futile and he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him go to pieces.

"So" Morgana said, walking over with the glowing weapon, "are you ready to cooperate yet?"

"You'll have to kill me before I betray Arthur or Camelot to you." he growled defiantly, trying to hide the tremor of fear in his voice.

"I do like a good challenge." Morgana replied with a smile that quickly turned to a snarl as she set the glowing blade against the flat of his stomach.

Time slowed down and seconds felt like hours as Merlin screamed, his stomach burning long after Morgana had pulled the dagger away. He shook violently as the muscles in his abdomen contracted, trying to drive away the heat. He could feel his magic boiling beneath his skin, threatening to erupt but, remembering the cuffs, he squeezed his eyes shut concentrating all his energy on keeping it in.

Just when the pain began to decrease and Merlin could breathe properly he felt it again, that horrible burning sensation accompanied by the smell of charred flesh and the hiss of the hot metal as it came into contact with the tender skin on the underside of his arm.

Morgana continued in this way for days switching between methods of torture as she went. She enjoyed decorating Merlin's pale skin with shiny patches that stayed an angry red for days after she burned him but there was also a certain allure in pressing her knife into his flesh and watching beads of red blood well up as she carved furrows into his chest and back. She made a game of turning every undamaged bit of skin purple with bruises so that now, after three weeks of torture, there was not even the smallest fraction of skin on his chest or back that was untouched by her methods.

She grew more and more frustrated as the days passed and Merlin refused to break, eventually admitting to herself that her plan may not be going as smoothly as she led the boy to believe. The warlock was growing weaker and she would have to be careful, as much as she would like to kill him she needed the boy alive to harness his abilities to her own. She decided it was time to try a different approach.

…

Merlin hung weakly from the chains, unable to lift his head off his chest. Bruises, burns, and cuts covered every inch of his chest, arms, and back and pain was his constant companion. He had been here for three weeks according to Morgana and, although he was loath to admit it, he had expected Arthur to rescue him long ago.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could withstand Morgana's torments. His already thin body had become gaunt, bones sticking out at sharp angles beneath paper-thin skin that was a macabre medley of dried blood and swollen purple flesh. Even hidden under this gruesome cover it would have been a simple matter to count every rib and vertebrae on his emaciated body. Morgana fed him only enough to keep him alive and no more.

His throat was raw from screaming and he no longer had the strength to taunt the witch with assurances that Arthur would come or that her plan would never succeed. He was always on the verge of consciousness, ready to slip back into the comforting dark if the pain became too much and he was close to breaking, much closer than he wanted to admit. All he would have to do was agree to Morgana's plan and the pain would stop, her offer was looking more appealing every minute and each day that Arthur didn't come chipped away at Merlin's resolve. Where was he? Didn't he know that Merlin needed him?

_Please Arthur,_ he thought, a single tear sliding down his cheek to clear a path through the dirt and grime,_ I can't hold out much longer_.

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**So what did you think? Good, bad, too much, too little? Let me know!**


	9. Hope

**I know I told some of you that this chapter was giving me trouble but apparently responding to reviews brought my muse back so here it is! It's a little short, sorry about that, but I wanted to get something up today and it seemed like a good place to end this bit. Hope you like it!**

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Gwen watched from the battlements, fragile hope dying in her eyes as Arthur and his knights rode steadily towards the castle. She had been sure that Merlin would be among the returning party but, no matter how many times she looked or how hard she strained her eyes, there was no sign of her grinning raven-haired friend. She sighed, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill in the early autumn breeze and descended the stairs to meet her husband.

The king that returned to Camelot was very different from the king who had left three weeks ago; he rode into the courtyard with his head down, shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Gwen had never seen him like this, not even when Morgana had taken the city, forcing Arthur to flee for his life and hide in the woods for weeks until they had built up enough strength to retake the castle. He dismounted slowly, almost painfully, moving like a man twice his age and, as soon as his feet touched the ground, Gwen ran to his side.

"Arthur…" she whispered, trailing off as she brushed his shoulder lightly with her fingertips. Sorrow for her missing friend welled up inside her and bled into her soft tone because it had been three weeks and Arthur would never have come home unless all hope was lost. She didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept the fact that Merlin was gone but she knew Morgana well and, if they hadn't found the boy by now, there was little chance they ever would.

He pushed her away, refusing to meet her eyes before striding up the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the depths of the castle. She stood in the courtyard, staring at his receding back in stunned silence; he had never rejected her comfort before, no matter what a hug, a glace, or a reassuring touch from her had always been welcomed.

After a moment of indecision she followed him into the castle, she wouldn't let him do this, wouldn't let him shut her out. If he pushed everyone away, retreating inside himself and letting the kingdom fall to ruin he would never forgive himself, and Merlin wouldn't want that. She knew how hard it was to lose someone, her father had died an innocent man at Uther's hand after all, but if there was one thing that horrible experience had taught her it was that they needed to move on with their lives. Arthur needed to use the boy's disappearance as motivation for becoming the greatest king Camelot had ever seen, not an excuse to fall apart.

She heard him slam the door to his chambers just as she rounded the corner and she paused for a moment, maybe this wasn't such a good idea, maybe she should give him time to calm down, work out his frustration, before she tried to talk to him. She wished Merlin were here, he would know what to do, but he wasn't and he probably never would be again so she was going to have to learn how to deal with Arthur's moods on her own.

She silently crossed the hall and pressed her ear against the door, jumping back as a yell filled with such pain and grief that it brought tears to her eyes emanated from the room. Taking a breath to steel her resolve she eased the door open and slipped inside, standing with her back against the wood as Arthur swept his arm across the table, sending everything crashing to the floor before overturning it entirely.

"Arthur…" she tried again, more hesitantly this time, only to flinch as he spun around and hurled a vase in her direction. The vase crashed against the wall barely six inches from her head, shattering into a million pieces and she stared at the place where it had struck, watching the water drip sluggishly down the wall to the floor where the flowers lay broken and mangled amid shards of glass.

"Get out." He growled, glaring at her without remorse.

"I'm not going to do that Arthur." She said, stoically holding his angry gaze, refusing to back down.

"GET OUT!" he roared, wheeling around to smash his fist into the wardrobe, heedless of the way the wood splintered around his bruised knuckles.

"No."

"Gwen, I need to be alone, just please go." He pleaded, eyes burning with tears that he refused to let fall, unwilling to break down in front of his wife again.

"It's okay Arthur." She said, moving towards the king, arms outstretched, although whether in comfort or self-defense she couldn't say, "I understand, you can talk to me."

"No!" Arthur shouted, backing away from her as he shook his head violently, "You don't understand, you could never understand!"

"Let me try." She said, edging closer to him cautiously as if approaching a wild animal. "Please Arthur, don't shut me out, I don't think I could bear it. I need you, now more than ever."

"I just…" he started, hitting the stone with his back, unable to retreat any further. "I can't…"

"I know Arthur, I know." Gwen said, tears slipping down her cheeks as she embraced her husband.

For a moment he simply stood there, rigid in her embrace, every muscle humming with tension, but eventually he let his guard down, relaxing by degrees and bringing his arms up to clutch her tightly to him. Several long minutes passed in silence before Arthur's broken whisper filled the room.

"I failed him, I was supposed to protect him, keep him safe, but I didn't and now he's gone, I can't find him and I have no idea where he is."

"It's okay." Gwen said, rubbing his back soothingly. "You did everything you could."

"But I can't give up Gwen." Arthur mumbled, "I keep thinking, what if we missed him what if he was hidden right under our noses and we didn't rescue him, couldn't save him. How can I ever live with myself if I stop searching?"

"You can't think like that Arthur." Gwen said, heart breaking even as she reassured him, reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead, "I want him back as much as you do but you'll run the kingdom into the ground if you continue like this. I can only rule for so long, the people need you, you're their king and you have a responsibility to them, you've sworn to protect them and act in their best interests. That cannot be sacrificed, no matter the cost."

"I know," Arthur replied, "but this is Merlin, he's…"

"Special." Gwen finished for him; "I know that, anyone who's spent two minutes with him knows that."

"How can I give up on him though?" Arthur asked, sweeping a weary hand over his face, "He would never stop searching for me if I'd been captured."

"You're exhausted." Gwen replied, avoiding his question, "You haven't had a proper night's rest in weeks, why don't you sleep on it, everything will be clearer in the morning."

Normally Arthur would have protested but she was right, he _was_ exhausted, and going to bed early would guarantee his privacy for the rest of the evening so he simply nodded and crossed to the bed, pulling the covers over his head to block out the world. He stayed that way as Gwen moved quietly around the room, picking up the mess he'd made, then finally left to attend her duties.

Arthur hadn't planned to sleep but his body had different ideas, after weeks of being on the move, resting only enough to avoid collapse, it betrayed him. He drifted into a fitful slumber fraught with nightmares that left him tossing and turning restlessly for hours. Scene after scene flashed through his mind: Merlin lying pale and unconscious on a stone floor; Morgana, eyes gleaming in triumph, clenching a bloody knife in her upraised fist; someone screaming, screaming, screaming in the distance and, woven throughout, a field of beautiful flowers and a laughing woman with sparkling violet eyes and hair as bright as the sun.

If Arthur had woken he would have seen the all too familiar figure perched on the windowsill, watching him sleep but he did not wake and, as the moon rose, the figure left the window, crossing to stand above the king, eyes glowing in the twilight as he placed a steady hand over the king's sweaty brow. He muttered an endless litany of indecipherable words, weaving a web of such power that even the great dragon who was hunting miles away paused to appreciate its magnitude

He commanded past, present, and future, binding them together then pulling them apart to reveal the single most potent thread of destiny the world has ever seen. This was what he gifted the sleeping king, a glimpse into the future and a tiny shimmer of something that was so desperately needed: hope. With a final whispered word the man leapt from the window and disappeared into the night just as the king's eyes snapped open and he sat up with a gasp.

…

Morgana decided to put her new plan into effect the next day. As she walked into his cell Merlin tried weakly to lift his head but he had barely raised it an inch off his chest when it fell back down again. He closed his eyes, staying as still as possible to avoid further aggravating his wounds as Morgana stalked to the middle of the room where he hung.

"Oh Merlin," she purred, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up before running a gentle finger down his uninjured cheek, "You're tired, aren't you?"

With a flick of her wrist the chains lowered Merlin to the floor where he sprawled in a heap, unable to work up enough energy to move. His breathing was shallow and he was struggling to remain conscious as she dragged him across the cell. He didn't know why he was being moved but he didn't much care as long as the awful wrenching pressure of hanging from his wrists was gone.

Morgana propped him against the wall then disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a bowl of something that smelled heavenly and a spoon. Too weak to care if it was a trap Merlin greedily gulped down everything she gave him wondering briefly why the woman that had been torturing him for weeks was now spooning soup into his open mouth like some kind of twisted semblance of a mother and her child.

As the food filled his stomach he felt the life begin to flow through his veins once more. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe he could hold out and he would still be alive when Arthur came for him.

Morgana smiled as she left the cell, She couldn't have hoped for a better response to her new plan, it was working perfectly. She would allow Merlin to rest for three days, giving him time to rekindle that amazingly resilient flame of hope he seemed to possess, then, once he had gained most of his strength back, she would rip it away again. Arthur would not come and the torture would begin again in earnest, worse than it had been before, much worse.

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**Arthur's got three days to save Merlin before Morgana goes at it again... do you think he'll make it in time?**


	10. The Tower of Isolade

**Just for clarification purposes, the man that was in Arthur's room during the dream was the seer from previous chapters, sorry I didn't make that clear, he will be explained in more detail during this chapter.**

**There is a quote from one of my favorite movies of all time somewhere in this chapter, can you find it? If you do I'll give you virtual brownies (because they're way better than cookies!)**

**Okay, enough prattling, on to the story!**

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Arthur raced through the castle as if his life depended on it, bare feet slapping noisily against the stone floor. He was so focused on his task that he barely noticed the cold or the guards' alarmed shouts as he sprinted along the corridors. He had to get to Gaius, the physician would know what to do, he always did.

The frantic king threw open the door to Gaius' chambers, nearly tearing it off its hinges in his haste to enter and it hit the wall with a loud bang, startling the sleeping physician out of his slumber.

"Arthur?" Gaius asked groggily, sitting up in bed as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and he stared at the figure before him. The king's hair stuck up at weird angles and his bare chest shone with sweat in the moonlight. He stood in the doorway with a slightly crazed look in his eye, gripping the frame for support as his ragged breathing filled the dark room. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"What do you know" Arthur began once his breathing had evened out a little, "about the tower of Isolade?"

"Isolade." Gaius replied, dragging the word out thoughtfully as he tapped the side of his head with his finger. Walking to his worktable he lit a candle then motioned for the king to sit across from him on the bench. "Now, that's a name I've not heard in a long time."

"You know it then?" Arthur asked hopefully, jumping up to pace back and forth in the small room, nervous energy making it impossible for him to sit still.

"Yes," Gaius replied hesitantly, "I know _of _it."

"Well," Arthur demanded, rounding on the physician, "where is it?"

Gaius didn't answer immediately but crossed to a shelf, muttering under his breath as he ran a finger along the dusty spines of the books it held. He paused for a moment on a large green tome covered in swirling golden runes, then, with a triumphant cry, heaved the book off the shelf and returned to the table. He flipped through the pages for what seemed like hours before stopping at a picture of a large ivory tower.

"Here it is!" he exclaimed, jabbing the picture with his finger and sliding the book across the table towards the king.

Arthur stared down at the book, forehead creased in concentration, "It looks so… familiar."

"Where did you hear about it anyway?" Gaius asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him. "I've not heard mention of the tower since before the days of the great purge."

"I first heard it two days before Merlin disappeared." Arthur answered, "I woke during the night to find a strange man perched on the windowsill, he told me to journey there when all hope seemed lost but I had forgotten about it until tonight; I had the strangest dream…"

"This man," Gaius said, breaking into Arthur's thoughts, "did he say who he was?"

"Yes." Arthur replied tone brimming with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes, "I've forgotten his name but he claimed that he was the Keeper of Secrets or some such foolishness."

Gaius froze, fixing the king with his intense stare, "The Keeper of Secrets… are you certain?"

"Absolutely," Arthur said, "he bragged on about it for quite some time."

"Well, I would expect no less." Gaius mumbled, shaking his head at the king's flippant response.

"What are you on about, Gaius?" Arthur demanded.

"The Keeper of Secrets, or Keeper, as he's more commonly known is one of the great pillars of the Old Religion. He is a creature of powerful magic, a seer that has been entrusted with the secrets of our world since the beginning of time. Few have ever seen him although not for lack of trying; there was a time, years ago, when his wisdom was prized above all else and many kings devoted their lives to seeking his knowledge. You are blessed indeed to have been visited by him but bear in mind, the words of the Keeper are not to be ignored and one does so only at the risk of great peril."

Arthur stared at the physician, slightly shocked by his sincerity; maybe he had underestimated his nocturnal visitor just a little. Clearing his throat to break the silence he glanced down at the book again.

"So… what does that have to do with the tower?"

"Ah yes," Gaius said, following the king's gaze back to the picture, "the tower of Isolade is home to the Keeper, it lies in the middle of the Valley of Shadows where it has guarded the spring of life for centuries. It is rumored to be beyond the eastern border of Camelot but it is hidden by the impenetrable thicket and guarded by a myriad of spells; those who fail to prove their worth can wander the wastelands forever and never find it. You must be pure of heart and single-minded in purpose if you wish to succeed and, most importantly, the journey is a quest that must be undertaken alone.

Arthur nodded solemnly, "You know I'd do anything to get Merlin back and we've exhausted all other options, this is my last chance, I'll leave at dawn."

Gaius put his hand on the king's shoulder, staring deep into his turbulent blue eyes, "You can do this Arthur, I know you can, remain true to yourself and you may yet return Merlin to Camelot."

The king nodded, clasping the physician's wrinkled hand in his own, "Don't worry, I won't fail, I _can't_ fail, not this time." Then he turned and left the room with a spring in his step because, for the first time in weeks, there was hope; hope that he wouldn't be too late, that Merlin would be alive, and that he would be able to bring the boy home.

Gaius stood there in the middle of the room after Arthur left, mind buzzing with possibilities, it seemed that the Old Religion had finally taken an active role in the shared destiny of his ward and the Once and Future King. He was glad that the Keeper was on Arthur's side because the king would need all the help he could get to defeat Morgana and forge the foundations of Albion.

…

Arthur returned to his chambers much slower than he had left them, mulling over what Gaius had said. He was glad to have solved the mystery of the tower but the dream that had revealed it had been extremely unsettling. He had no way of knowing whether the scenes from his dream had been real or simply the product of his unconscious mind feeding off his concerns for his missing servant but he sincerely hoped it was the latter. He opened the door to his chambers still lost in thought and was greeted by an anxious Gwen who promptly ran across the room and threw herself into his arms.

"Arthur! Where have you been? I got back from the meeting and you were gone, I was worried sick!" Gwen exclaimed, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that he could hardly breath. She was in her nightgown, dark curls caught back in a loose braid that swung at her waist.

"I had to talk to Gaius." Arthur answered, pulling her arms free of his neck and leading her to the bed. "I may have found a way to rescue Merlin."

"Really?" she asked, hope sparking in the depths of her chocolate brown eyes. She immediately tried to quell it but it was too late, it had already taken hold. She had promised herself that she would move on, that she wouldn't let Merlin's disappearance affect her like her father's death had but that was proving beyond difficult. She couldn't help the tremor of excitement that ran through her at Arthur's words, she was an optimist at heart and no matter how hard she tried to snuff out that spark before it grew too big she couldn't.

She didn't want to hope, didn't even want to consider the possibility that Arthur would bring Merlin home this time because if he didn't succeed, if he returned empty-handed again, it would destroy her. She couldn't live like this, alternating between hope and despair so she tried to block it out because it was far better to be pleasantly surprised than disappointed and filled with bitterness, but in the few seconds since Arthur had spoken the spark had roared to life, multiplying and consuming all of her doubts until now it was burning brightly in her chest, warming her to the very core. Her only thought was that Arthur had better return with Merlin because she would never be able to recover if he didn't.

Arthur stared at his wife, watching the conflicting emotions play across her face, he loved her eyes, well, he loved everything about her, but especially her eyes. He'd heard people say that the eyes are a window to the soul and, for Gwen, that could not have been truer. He could see the hope spark to life in her eyes and he smiled because that was how he liked to see her, happy and optimistic, not grief-stricken and defeated, but almost as soon as the hope appeared it was replaced with uncertainty, her gaze becoming guarded as she tried to extinguish it.

Arthur's smile disappeared and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips to reassure her. "I'll find him this time Gwen, I know I will."

She nodded slowly leaning back against his chest, "If you don't… Arthur, this has to be the last time."

"I wouldn't go if there wasn't a chance." He said, meeting her troubled gaze with his earnest one.

"Be careful." She pleaded, pulling him close, "I couldn't bear to lose you as well."

He kissed her again just as the sky began to lighten from black to grey then, trailing a finger down the side of her face, left the bed. "I love you Gwen, more than life itself, but if there's even the smallest chance Merlin's alive and I can bring him home I have to take it, please understand."

"I do understand Arthur, I would expect no less of you, just make sure you come home, I can't live without you." She replied, teasing the end of her braid between her fingers.

She looked so lost and alone sitting in the middle of their large bed that he almost hesitated to leave, but Merlin needed him and the sooner he left the sooner they would return so he dressed himself and walked out of their chambers without a backward glance, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

Making his way to the stables he saddled a horse and rode confidently out of the castle gates, turning east just as the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky with brilliant streaks of pink and orange. He breathed deeply in the crisp morning air, laughing for the first time since Merlin had disappeared because he was filled with more hope than he could ever remember feeling before and he couldn't stop it from overflowing. He would find Merlin and bring him home, then everything would go back to normal and he would finally be able to enjoy life again.

…

Merlin woke slowly, assessing his injuries as he lay on the floor with his eyes closed. He moaned as a semi-healed cut along his ribs scraped the rough stone floor, then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position with his cuffed hands gritting his teeth as the movement stretched the abused skin on his chest and back. Panting heavily he looked around, Morgana was nowhere in sight so he tentatively relaxed against the wall and tried to make a plan.

He had no idea why Morgana had taken pity on him or how long it would last so he needed to be ready to escape while he was strong enough. Much of the weakness had been from malnutrition he supposed because he felt much stronger now that he had eaten and was no longer hanging from his wrists. He tried desperately to concoct a plan that would release him from Morgana's scheme but it was too well constructed, without his magic there wasn't really anything he could do to overpower her and the enchanted cuffs made all thoughts of using it flee from his mind, he would not be stupid enough to use his magic against them again, they were far to powerful.

He heard a door open in the distance and, deciding to press his advantage, however small it was, he slumped against the wall, half closing his eyes as the witch entered the room, watching her apprehensively from behind his long lashes. The only way he could hope to escape was if Morgana underestimated his strength and grew careless, it was a long shot but right now it was the only option he had.

"Feeling better I see." she chirped as she closed the cell door, locking it behind her.

Merlin cursed and he sat up, wondering how she had known that his feigned weakness was an act. "I don't know what you're trying to do here Morgana but it will fail!" he vowed glaring at her as she stalked over.

"I don't think so Merlin, it is sooo nice to hear your voice again though." She said, smiling maliciously as she pinched the puckered skin around his cheekbone admiring her handiwork. During the three weeks since she had given him the cut it had healed crudely, leaving a raised pink line half an inch thick from the top of his ear to the corner of his nose. Although the color would eventually fade the scar would remain, effectively disfiguring his face for life.

"Don't have such a pretty face now do you?" She taunted as he struggled to pull away from her, pain clouding his features. Releasing her hold on the still tender skin she laughed "Prepare yourself Merlin, after tomorrow you will join me or wish you had never been born!" Then she turned on her heel and swept from the room slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

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**Please review! I'm hoping to write the next chapter over the weekend and have it up sometime on Sunday.**


	11. The Quest

**This chapter was fun to write, I really got to let my imagination run wild so I hope you like it!**

**Once again thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and even just read my story, I'm indebted to you all!**

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By the time the sun set Arthur had reached an ancient, evil-looking field of thorns, they were taller than he was on horseback but in the distance he could faintly see a pure ivory tower rising out of the tangled mess. He quickly made camp deciding to rest for the night and attack the thicket in the morning. Gaius had said that it would take more than physical strength to reach the tower and he couldn't afford to rush into things without preparing himself. He would only get one chance at this and, with any luck, he would reach the tower by nightfall tomorrow.

Arthur awoke to the sound of birdsong, an ironic accompaniment to the challenge he would face. Turning to look at the thicket in the light of day he cringed thinking about fighting his way through the web of tangled branches studded with three-foot thorns that protruded at every angle, but after a quick breakfast he unsheathed his sword and doggedly started hacking his way through the impenetrable mass before him.

It was slow going and Arthur lost his patience quite a few times, screaming in frustration as a particularly difficult branch refused to break before the weight of his sword. No matter how many times he cleared the path ahead, hoping for some sign of an end to the interminable field, there was always another even denser jumble of branches blocking his way.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring more water; he'd finished what little he'd had in his water skin hours ago and his throat was so parched that he was reminded of the time when Camelot's water store had turned to sand. The air was thick with dust and it coated everything with a light brown film that was making it increasingly difficult to breath.

He turned around, trying to judge how far he had come, and immediately had to swallow down a wave of panic that sent his heart leaping into his throat. Instead of the ragged trail of broken thorns he'd expected to see there was a wall identical to the one in front of him. Chopping experimentally at one of the branches he waited, heart thudding wildly in his chest, as it remained detached for a few moments, then grew back, stronger and more gnarled than before.

Pushing down his fear he faced forward again and resumed his attack on the thicket. He would have to keep going, no matter how tired or thirsty he became because going back was obviously not an option. He hadn't fully realized the implications of Gaius' cautionary words before but now he understood how incredibly easy it would be to get lost in the mass of thorns and never find his way out.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed because the twisted canopy of branches over his head blocked out most of the light but the weary king finally sensed that he was making progress. He couldn't see the tower from within his cocoon of thorns but the branches seemed to be getting marginally thinner and flashes of brilliant color began to appear through the gaps in the thorns. With a mighty heave Arthur sliced through the last barrier and stumbled out into a beautiful meadow carpeted with wildflowers of every color. The tower stood in the middle of the field, it's pure white stone almost blinding in the sunlight.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted Arthur stared around in wonder; the valley was gorgeous, by far the most beautiful place he'd ever seen; it was bordered on three sides by mountains so tall their snow-capped peaks almost disappeared into the flawless azure sky. A sparkling lake with water so clear he could see every pebble that lined the bottom lay on the far side of the valley and, as he watched, a hawk dropped out of the sky, diving towards the water to catch a fish with its sharp talons. A gentle breeze brushed past the king, ruffling his hair, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of the cool air.

"Beautiful, isn't it." Came a voice from behind him.

Starting Arthur whirled around. "Father?"

"Arthur." Uther replied, striding towards his son with open arms. "I have missed you."

Slightly wary Arthur accepted his father's embrace, then pulled back, "I've missed you as well but how is it that you are here?"

"This is the Valley of Shadows," Uther explained, looping an arm around Arthur's shoulders, unable to resist the opportunity for physical contact with the son he'd thought he would never see again, "here the veil between worlds is the thinnest and the spirits of the dead are able to move freely between them. Tell me, how are you? How has Camelot faired in my absence?"

"I am well," Arthur replied, "and Camelot has prospered almost beyond belief. It is my greatest hope that one day the lands of Albion will be united in peace and I strive towards that goal with everything I do."

"A worthy ambition." Uther said, taking his son's hand in his own and pulling him towards a small hut that had escaped Arthur's notice until now. "Come, we have so much to catch up on."

"I…" Arthur began, staring back and forth between his father and the tower rising in the distance, indecision evident in his clear blue eyes. In his youth there had been nothing he'd sought more fervently than his father's love, acceptance, and approval; over the years that desire had faded but it sparked to life again, burning as brightly as it ever had and he was loath to pass up this chance to reconnect with the man. On the other hand, Merlin needed help and the answer to finding his missing manservant lay in the tower. Somehow he knew that he would not be able to have both, he was being forced to choose between the two so, making up his mind, he tried to pull his hand free of his father's grasp.

Uther tightened his grip on his son, "You would choose a simple _servant_ over me, your own father?" he thundered, eyes burning with anger. "I thought you would have listened to at least some of what I taught you! I have never been more disappointed to call you my son."

"Father…" Arthur pleaded, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his father's words cut him to the quick.

"No Arthur, I'll not listen to any of your pathetic excuses, it's obvious you find this _Mer_lin more important than me, I should have disposed of him long ago."

"What?!" Arthur cried in disbelief, stunned by his father's callousness.

"I knew," Uther said, eyes brimming with disgust, "when you defied my orders to save that pitiful wretch after he drank the poison, I knew that he would be nothing but trouble. Look what he has done to you, it's almost as if you've been enchanted, you're a king and yet you are willing to risk your life for that of one who is worth less than the dirt on the bottom of your boots!"

"Merlin is worth far more than you could ever dream, father!" Arthur shot back, finally finding his voice, "He continues to prove himself loyal to a fault and has been invaluable to me these last few years; he has show incredible insight in a number of situations and holds my complete trust, I could not ask for a better advisor or friend."

"Ha." Uther replied dryly, laughing without mirth. "So this is what the kingdom I worked so hard to build has come to. My son has taken a serving girl for his queen and my once proud realm is governed on the thoughts and opinions of a base-born peasant rather than the wisdom and experience of the council. Under your guidance Camelot has become the laughingstock of Albion!"

"ENOUGH!" Arthur shouted as he wrenched his hand free of his father's now painful grip. He couldn't take it any more, couldn't stand there and listen to Uther demean his wife, his friends, or his reign any longer. "There was a time when I would have given anything for your approval but that time is past. I have no desire to strike fear into the hearts of the people as you did, I rule with benevolence and integrity and they have served me well. I choose Merlin over you and, given another chance, I would choose him again, without hesitation, because he is like a brother to me, I have more respect and affection for him than I ever held for you. I am happy to risk my life for him because his life is worth a thousand of mine. Value does not come from birthright or social status but rather, a man's thoughts, his actions, and most of all, his heart; you would do well to remember that!"

Then, without another glance, Arthur turned and sprinted across the field to the base of the tower. As he drew closer he was awed by the sheer size of the stone structure; such a magnificent building could never have been constructed by mere mortals and he felt miniscule in comparison. He walked around the bottom of the tower until he found a small door set deep into the masonry and threw it open to reveal a spiral staircase that clung to the inner wall of the tower, winding so far into the air that Arthur felt dizzy just looking at it.

Sucking in a deep breath Arthur started jogging up the steps, concentrating on regulating his breathing. He pretended that he was in training to occupy his mind as he ran, going over all the battle formations and training exercises he knew one by one until he'd exhausted all the possibilities, then he started in on the knights, listing each one by rank and classifying them by heritage until that too was exhausted. He still didn't seem any closer to the top than he had been when he started and, panting heavily, he was finally forced to slow to a walk. The muscles in his calves and thighs protested his ascent, burning with the effort of lifting one foot after another but he kept going, pushing through the pain, he wasn't going to let anything, especially a little physical discomfort stop him from saving his best friend.

Just when he was about to sit down and take a break, Arthur spotted a deep purple door inscribed with gilded symbols that shimmered and danced in the sunlight streaming down from a small window set high in the tower wall. Leaning against the door with his arms folded over his chest and his ankles crossed was the Keeper. Arthur sprinted up the last few steps and bowed his head slightly in deference, swallowing his pride because he couldn't afford to offend the man this time; Merlin's life depended on it.

"Well done, Pendragon." The man said, voice rumbling from deep within his chest. "You have shown great endurance, determination, and humility, you have proved your worth and will be granted the answers that you seek."

Turning to the door the Keeper spoke a few unintelligible words, running his fingers lightly between the symbols; as he spoke they began to glow, emitting a pure golden light so dazzling that Arthur had to close his eyes against its brightness. When he opened them again the Keeper was motioning him through the empty doorway.

"This is as far as I go, my daughter, Isolade, holds the knowledge you have journeyed so far to receive."

"Thank you." Arthur responded, surprising himself with the amount of sincerity that rang in his tone. "For everything."

Despite the magical attacks that Camelot had suffered over the years and his father's endless proclamations that all magic users were evil, Arthur found that he was truly grateful for the Keeper's help. In his young life he'd only ever seen magic used for evil, to harm others but he was beginning to realize that it could also be used as a force for good, to save people.

He stepped through the doorway, all weariness forgotten, drowned out by anticipation because he had done it, completed the challenges set before him and now he was finally going to get some answers. "Don't worry Merlin," he whispered, "I'm coming."

He ascended a short staircase and stopped, breath catching in his throat, on the threshold of a small circular room. There, in the middle of the floor sat a beautiful woman with flowers woven into her long blonde hair, it was the girl from his dream! She sat with her eyes closed, face lifted to the sunlight, humming softly as she swayed back and forth. A smile graced her full lips and her high cheekbones were tinted a rosy hue. Every feature on her delicate face bespoke an ancient race of nobility that had long since ceased to exist in Albion.

Unwilling to interrupt her trance he leaned against the wall with his hands on his knees, allowing himself to relax for the first time since he'd begun the quest. He waited politely for her to finish with far more patience than he usually showed and was rewarded when, after a few minutes, she stilled and turned to face him.

"Arthur Pendragon." she said, opening her lashes slowly to reveal startling lavender irises. It wasn't a question, but rather a statement full of quiet confidence, as if she knew, and had always known, that this day would come.

"I need your help." Arthur replied breathlessly, enthralled by her beauty, unable to tear his eyes from her hypnotic gaze.

"Your friend, he's in danger, right?" the woman asked.

Arthur nodded slowly wondering briefly how she could possibly know so much but he cast the thought aside as her soft lilting voice filled the room once again.

"You and Merlin are like two sides of a coin." she began as Arthur sank down to sit against the wall, "One without the other is of little value. Your destinies are irrevocably intertwined and, if you wish to become the king you are meant to be, you must save him."

"I tried," Arthur complained, defensiveness creeping into his tone as he heard the silent accusation that accompanied her words. "I have no idea where to look, my knights and I have searched every village in the kingdom!"

"And yet it is not enough" she replied narrowing her almond-shaped eyes as she ran her calculating gaze over him. "You and Merlin have a deep connection, the bond is very strong and it will help you find him."

"How?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"I will enhance it so that you are able to feel his thoughts." she replied decisively, "As you travel closer to him the bond will become stronger, follow his thoughts and you will surely find him"

Rising with amazing grace she seemed to glide across the floor towards Arthur and, reaching out, she placed her hand on his forehead. It was warm and at her touch something in Arthur's mind came to life, as if she had woken a part of him that normally lay dormant. "Good luck young Pendragon" she whispered musically "the fate of the world rests in your hands now."

Arthur clambered to his feet wanting to ask her what she meant and how Merlin could possibly have anything to do with the fate of the world but as he stood the tower dissolved around him, sliding out of his vision until he stood in complete darkness, unsure what to do he called out "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Arthur?" answered an incredulous voice that sounded suspiciously like Merlin.

Hope flooded through him and he confidently took a step in the direction of Merlin's voice only to find himself falling through the infinite emptiness. Jerking awake he sat up, breathing heavily; he was tangled in his blankets back at the campsite he had left the day before. His heart dropped to his stomach and he allowed despair to wash over him, it had only been a dream and he was no closer to finding Merlin than he had been since the boy had been taken.

Arthur began to collect his supplies, storming furiously around the camp; he'd been so close, so close to finding Merlin but it had all been for naught. He was going to have to go back to Camelot empty-handed again! It had all been some sort of cruel joke, another magical plot to destroy him, he swiped angrily at the tears threatening to slip down his cheeks then stopped dead, shaking his head in disbelief. _It couldn't be_! Then he heard it again, this time with more urgency, a voice that he would know anywhere.

_"Arthur help! She's coming!_"

"MERLIN!" he shouted but there was no answer other than the birds singing joyfully from the tree behind him.

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**Sorry there wasn't any Merlin in this chapter but he'll be in the next bit. Speaking of which I'm not sure when I'll have time to get the next chapter up but if you review I can guarantee it will be sooner than if you don't! ;)**


	12. A Rescue Attempt

**Um... yeah so this is intense, sorry for those of you who didn't want any more whump, I just couldn't resist.**

**Be sure to check the author's note at the bottom, I'm going to let you guys decide how a couple things play out!**

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Merlin had been sitting in his cell, frantically trying to think of a way to escape before Morgana came back, when he felt something brush against his consciousness. At first he'd retreated, throwing up barriers to protect himself from what he'd assumed was a mental attack. Physical torture had obviously been ineffectual so he wouldn't put it past Morgana to start in on his mind next; Mordred had been noticeably absent since that day in the woods but his skill at telepathy would make him an ideal psychological weapon in the witch's ongoing effort to break him.

He balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the attack; if they thought he was going to let them in without a fight they were gravely mistaken. He would do everything in his power to keep them out because, if they gained even the smallest foothold, there was little telling what would happen.

After a few minutes of tense silence he cautiously lowered his defenses, reaching out tentatively to search for the thing that had touched him. It wasn't in his immediate vicinity so he stretched further, ready to pull back at the slightest provocation. But, when he found it, he was surprised to discover that it didn't feel threatening at all, in fact it felt… familiar.

The thing, whatever, no _who_ever it was, didn't want to harm him, but rather, to help. More confident now that the threat had dissipated, Merlin explored the mysterious entity more thoroughly; there was something so comfortable, so extremely ordinary about it that it was almost as if he were investigating his own mind. He thought he should know who it was, that he should be able to tell, but, try as he might, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

He almost didn't notice all the little details pooling together as he carried out his inspection but, finally, it dawned on him. The reason that it felt so familiar, the reason he knew it hadn't been a threat, was because there was only one person in the entire world that it could possibly be. "_Arthur?_" he asked hesitantly, hardly daring to hope that, after all this time, the king was finally coming for him.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and he realized that he was out of time, he had no plan, no way to escape, and Morgana was just feet away from him, directly outside the door. In a last ditch effort he screamed "_Arthur help! She's coming!"_ as loud as he could with his mind, pushing his consciousness out as far as it would go, hoping desperately that it would be enough, that Arthur would get the message and come to the rescue.

The door creaked open and Merlin stared Morgana down defiantly as she stalked into the room. "I'll never break," He vowed, eyes never leaving her face, "and Arthur is coming for me, just wait and see."

Instead of answering she raised her hand, clenching it into a fist as her eyes flashed gold, and Merlin screamed. He screamed and screamed until he had nothing left to scream with. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before and it was far worse than anything Morgana had tried previously; it filled his body coursing through his veins and setting his nerves on fire, but it wasn't just physical, it was mental and emotional as well. It felt like someone was trying to tear him apart from the inside out, like his body would explode if he didn't hold it together. It ripped his soul open, taking all the hurt and grief he'd ever felt and flinging them back in his face. It had been hard enough dealing with the loneliness, the guilt, and that awful emptiness that left him feeling drained and hollow after Freya had died, and then again after his father died; but now it was unbearable.

Tears leaked from beneath his tightly closed lids as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw to stop himself from giving in; he couldn't break, no matter what, he had to protect Arthur and Camelot. Soon he was beyond coherent thought, his world narrowed until all that mattered was the pain, it dulled his senses and left him incapable of begging for relief, even if he'd wanted to. He lost his hold on his magic and it rushed to the surface, desperate to help him, but it didn't know how to deal with the assault and so it alternated between trying to protect him from the invasion and lashing out at the source of the enchantment, which only served to magnify his suffering.

The triple threat was too much for his magic, which had been locked away for weeks, to deal with and he could feel it fading under the force of Morgana's spell, disappearing at an alarming pace as wave after wave of agony washed over him. He writhed helplessly on the floor, trying to relieve the pain, arching his back and lashing out with his arms and legs in a desperate attempt to feel anything but the burning fire that consumed every inch of his being. His body shook violently, all the half-healed wounds from before opening as he fought for relief. He heard Morgana's low chuckle through the red haze that surrounded him just before he fled from the conscious world, retreating into the comforting dark that had become so familiar.

…

Morgana stared at the boy on the floor before her, shuddering and moaning, his body unable to stay still even in the oblivion of unconsciousness, quite pleased with the effects of her newest trick. If this didn't break him, nothing would and, in the event that he still refused to bend before her there was always the other, albeit far more dangerous, option.

"Won't be long now Merlin, you _will_ give me everything I want!" she muttered then, leaving him to his misery, she strode regally from the room.

…

Arthur galloped wildly through the woods on his horse, he had to find Merlin before it was too late. The boy's voice had sounded so strange, filled with fear instead of its usual enthusiasm. He didn't know exactly where to go but every few minutes he called out using both his mind and his voice, searching for something that would direct him to his missing servant. Finally he stopped and dismounted his horse, peering into the silent woods around him; he could keep going but he didn't want to waste valuable time searching in the wrong direction. He needed a sign, some clue to guide him.

"MERLIN!" he cried, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be too late to save his friend; that the ominous silence didn't mean what he feared it did.

After several minutes with no answer he turned to mount his horse again but found himself paralyzed, unable to move as the tortured screams of his manservant filled his mind. Grabbing his head he sank down into a crouch pressing the palms of his hands into his ears with all of his strength to block out the sound of Merlin in pain. Tears streamed unnoticed down his cheeks as he waited for the cries to fade, unable to think or even function while they continued.

After what seemed like hours the screams subsided, giving way to pitiful whimpers that were somehow worse. Forcing himself to his feet Arthur mounted his horse and followed the moans to a small clearing. Pausing at the edge he scanned the open space for signs of movement but saw nothing. He drew his sword and walked hesitantly into the open, thinking there must have been some mistake; this was where the connection had led him but the boy was nowhere in sight.

"Merlin?" He called in confusion.

As if in answer the tortured screams began again but this time they weren't only in his mind, he heard them with his ears. Swinging around wildly he ran to a large outcropping at the edge of the clearing, the connection pulling him inexorably towards its craggy face. As he reached it he thrust out his hand feeling for something, anything that would help him reach his manservant and gasped as his arm disappeared to the elbow into what should have been solid stone.

Pulling back in surprise Arthur stared at his hand, then the rock before finally holding his breath and plunging through the enchantment, into the darkness beyond. Pausing to let his eyes adjust Arthur realized that he wasn't in a cave as he had expected but rather a large, underground dungeon.

He moved more cautiously now that the screams had stopped, inching along the dark corridor with sword drawn. There were moans coming through the open door of a cell at the end of the hall and, carful not to make a sound, Arthur edged down the corridor until he could see into the small room. Merlin was lying on the floor, his wrists bound with chains, curled in a fetal position, shaking and muttering something under his breath.

…

"P-p-please… please st-t-op… Mor-gana st-t-op… no more… p-please." Merlin gasped out from his position on the floor, unable to stop the tremors that were wracking his thin frame at the memory of the pain.

Morgana raised her hand again; venom in her eyes "Not until you join me Merlin."

"N-never" Merlin vowed with a shudder, closing his eyes in preparation.

…

Morgana clenched her fist and Merlin's screams once again broke the stillness of the dungeon. Arthur watched in horror as his servant arched his back and stretched his arms out, clenching and unclenching his hands, legs scrabbling across the ground in a futile attempt to escape the witch. The king had to consciously restrain himself from charging to the rescue as Merlin lifted his head and began to slam it violently into the stone beneath him until Arthur felt sure that the boy would knock himself out.

…

Merlin wanted desperately to escape the pain but he couldn't, his body clung to the tenuous hold it had on consciousness, refusing to give him even a brief respite from Morgana's torture. The witch finally released her hold and Merlin drew in short shallow breaths, focusing on stilling his trembling body, but it jerked restlessly, trying to escape the phantom pains the spell left behind. He knew that his body, frail as it was from weeks of captivity, couldn't take it much longer and he feared that, if she didn't stop soon, he would die; apparently she had tired of trying to break him and was now focused solely on making his death as painful as possible.

Morgana raised her hand again, clenching it tightly, and the pain began once more; each time was worse than the last and Merlin didn't have the strength to fight it anymore. All the muscles in his body tensed but this time he didn't move, didn't try to get free, just lay there back arched, mouth open in a scream, feeling the life drain out of him onto the floor below.

He was preparing himself to die, content in the knowledge that he had defended Arthur with his last breath, when the pain was cut short. Confused, Merlin pried his eyes open and turned his head towards Morgana, despair settling deep in his gut when he saw her throw Arthur against the wall and hold him there as chains snaked down to bind him in place.

Arthur had come, but it was too late, Merlin was as good as dead and now Morgana had the king in her clutches as well, Camelot was doomed.

…

Arthur watched in horror from the hallway as Morgana raised her hand again but this time was different, he could tell. Merlin's screams had a finality about them that hadn't been there before and the boy didn't try to escape, just froze, locked in that rigid position on the floor.

He was dying, Arthur realized, and that was all it took to for him to throw caution to the wind and charge headlong into the room, murder in his eyes. He swung his sword at his half-sister with all the force he could muster, it would only take one well-aimed blow to bring the witch to her knees, but before he could touch her, she had turned, eyes still glowing and thrown him across the room like a rag doll, calling chains from the wall to hold him in place.

He had failed.

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****IMPORTANT** Please review or PM me with your preferences on the following items...**

**1. Do you want Morgana and/or Mordred to be killed later in this story?**

**2. How do you want Arthur to react to Merlin's magic? (I could write a really angsty reveal or make him accept Merlin with little to no angst, up to you)**

**Let me know what you want me to write, I'll do whatever gets the most votes! ;)**


	13. Merlin is Emrys

**This is the reveal (if you couldn't guess from the title!) and it was very fun to write so I hope you like it!**

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"Well, well, well." Morgana drawled, stalking closer to Arthur, "This _is_ a surprise."

"Let him go Morgana, it's me you want." Arthur said, struggling against the chains.

"You?" Morgana asked incredulously, then threw her head back and laughed, body shaking with mirth as she ran a depreciating gaze over her brother. "I see you haven't lost any of your arrogance."

"Nor you any of your condescension." Arthur returned haughtily.

Morgana continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I hardly want _you_, unless you're dead; Merlin, on the other hand, is of much more use to me."

"What could you possibly want with Merlin?"

"You really have no idea, do you?" Morgana asked, the tiniest hint of sympathy creeping into her tone.

"I tired of your games long ago Morgana, you're going to tell me exactly what you want me to hear whether I play along or not." Arthur said wearily.

The malicious spark leapt back into Morgana's eye at her brother's response and she glanced at Merlin who was lying on the floor, unconscious again. "Merlin is far more important than you could ever understand Arthur, he has thwarted every plot I've launched against you or Camelot virtually singlehandedly."

"That's impossible." Arthur interjected dismissively, "This is _Mer_lin we're talking about."

"That's exactly what I said until I found out how he'd managed it." Morgana replied, nodding her head distractedly.

"I'm listening." Arthur said, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"He has magic." Morgana responded, still lost in thought.

"You're lying!" Arthur cried, shaking his head in disbelief. It couldn't be true! Merlin was just… Merlin, he couldn't be a sorcerer. Arthur would have been able to tell, he would have noticed something, Merlin couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. But even as he denied it, another softer voice whispered that it made sense. He'd suspected that the boy was hiding something but he'd never guessed that it would be a secret of this magnitude.

He wanted to be angry, to rage and scream at his servant, his friend, for betraying his trust, for lying, but he couldn't, not when that same servant was lying on the floor so weak and pale that he seemed to be clinging to life by a single thread.

It was obvious to Arthur that Merlin hadn't broken, hadn't given in to Morgana's demands even after enduring far more than anyone should ever have to experience; Arthur wouldn't have faulted anyone for caving under the pressure and yet his amazingly loyal servant had shown stronger resolve than many trained knights could have shown in the same situation and the king couldn't bring himself to condemn the boy.

Merlin certainly wasn't evil, he'd had ample opportunity to murder Arthur and steal the throne or join Morgana in her evil schemes but had chosen instead to protect at every opportunity, even at the expense of his own life and so, Arthur found, that rather than be overwhelmed by rage at the boy's betrayal he felt only acceptance and a strange sense of inevitability and rightness as if he had known Merlin's secret subconsciously all along.

…

Morgana watched her words take effect, smiling when Arthur flinched back as if they had been a physical blow. Hurt lanced through his eyes, softening them for a brief moment before they hardened again, glittering like jewels in the dim light. She watched the conflict play out across his face, anger at the boy's betrayal and sympathy for his predicament fighting for prominence.

She'd thought that his pride and arrogance would be enough, that the doctrine Uther had pounded into him since he was born would be sufficient for him to reject Merlin, reject magic entirely, but, much to her chagrin, the sympathy and acceptance grew stronger, swallowing up the rage. She needed Arthur to reject Merlin, that would break the boy beyond anything she had been able to do, but it was looking less and less like that would happen so she decided to change tactics.

"Emrys is the most powerful warlock in existence, it has been prophesied for centuries that he will return magic to Camelot."

"Who's Emrys?" Arthur asked, confused by the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation.

"Merlin." Morgana answered, watching the king closely to judge his reaction, "Merlin is Emrys."

She was again disappointed when only the smallest spark of uncertainty showed in Arthur's eyes, flaring briefly before dying.

"I see." Arthur said, hiding his internal struggle, not only was Merlin a sorcerer, he was the most powerful one in the world. It was a lot to take in but he refused to react, to form a negative opinion before he was able to speak with the boy himself. Morgana thought that she was being sneaky, that he couldn't see what she was trying to do, but she was wrong. It was painfully obvious that nothing would please her more than poisoning Arthur against Merlin and driving a wedge into their relationship, so he reserved his judgment until such a time as the boy could defend himself or refute Morgana's claims.

"Personally I'm inclined to doubt his power," Morgana began, "if he is the greatest sorcerer ever to live, how is it that I was able to capture him and keep him restrained here for so long? Wouldn't he have escaped long ago if the prophecies were true?"

Arthur grunted noncommittally, doing his best to ignore his sister's musings and instead concentrate on a way to escape her clutches.

"And to think, I once feared the name Emrys above all else. That scrawny boy is no match for me and, before the day is out, I will ensure that he is never able to threaten me again!"

She continued in this way for some time, pacing back and forth in the small room, pausing occasionally to judge Arthur's reaction to her words, but the king's face remained a stoic mask, refusing to betray even the slightest hint of what he was feeling. Morgana's diatribe fell on deaf ears, her smug expressions swimming in and out of focus as Arthur tried desperately to process what he'd learned.

He thought back over every ambush, every assassination attempt, every magical creature they'd fought together, analyzing them in light of the new information. Maybe he really was the clotpole Merlin always claimed he was because, now that he _knew_, it seemed so obvious… how could he have been so stupid, so ignorant?

Every time a branch just happened to fall out of a tree at the most opportune time, or a bandit dropped their sword for absolutely no reason seconds before it would have mortally wounded him. How could he have chalked that up to luck? Explained it away as a coincidence? Not to mention the countless number of magical creatures that he'd defeated despite Gaius' warnings that such a fearsome beast could only be vanquished by magic. God… he had been so blind!

He wasn't angry at Merlin… well… maybe he was, a little, but it hurt that the boy had felt the need to lie to him. If he was honest, it was the blow to his pride that stung the most; he'd always bragged that he could read his feckless manservant like a book so to find out that the boy had been hiding something this big was humiliating. He was mostly angry at himself, he'd acted like such a pompous fool, accepting all the praise and glory for his successes when, in reality, it was Merlin who should have gotten the thanks.

Arthur would have been dead a thousand times over if it wasn't for the constant devotion of his faithful servant and for that he felt only gratitude. It didn't matter that Merlin had magic because he knew, deep down, that he could trust the boy with his life. The discovery didn't change that, it couldn't, he'd known his servant for too long and his feelings ran far too deep for something so trivial to extinguish the friendship that had been years in the making.

…

What brought Arthur out of his reverie wasn't anything that Morgana said, in fact, it was the opposite. Silence descended on the dungeon and Arthur snapped back to reality, worried that he'd missed something important, but a covert glance revealed that nothing had changed dramatically. Merlin still lay unmoving in the same spot on the floor but Morgana had ceased her pacing and stood with her back to Arthur, head cocked to the side.

"I mean, I guess it's true," she said contemplatively as she turned to face the king, "he _will_ bring magic back to Camelot, just not of his own free will."

At that Arthur glanced up sharply, "What?"

"His time is up, I'm tired of trying to break him, but there are other ways to get what I want. He will use his power to take the city and I won't have to lift so much as a finger to claim the throne I have fought so long to assume."

"That's easier said than done." Arthur mumbled with a dry chuckle.

"What did you say?" Morgana demanded, crossing the room quickly and gripping his chin in her hand, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"I said," Arthur replied, eyes snapping with derision, "that's easier said than done, Merlin doesn't take orders from anyone, not Gaius, not me, and certainly not you."

"He won't have a choice." Morgana countered, releasing his chin and clasping her hands behind her back before resuming her pacing with an air of extreme self-satisfaction, "The innocent boy that everyone thought they knew will be gone, he will serve me and only me; with such a powerful ally no one will be able to oppose my claim and, together, we will return magic to the kingdom."

A sarcastic retort flew to the tip of Arthur's tongue but he bit it back, Morgana was trying to get a rise out of him; he should know, she'd done it countless times when they were children, taunted him, poked and prodded until, finally, he'd erupted, unable to hold his annoyance in any longer. It never failed that, at the exact moment he chose to retaliate, his father would come striding into the room; what inevitably followed was a lengthy lecture on the duties of a prince and a lesson in etiquette that ended with Uther forcing Arthur to apologize to a very smug Morgana who had watched the entire display, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"The question then becomes: how should I make my entrance? Any suggestions Arthur?" Morgana asked, raising her eyebrow as a knowing smirk spread across her face.

"It doesn't matter what you do," Arthur spat, no longer caring that he was playing right into Morgana's hands, "the people of Camelot will never welcome you as their Queen!"

"Good point," Morgana said, pretending to consider it for a minute, "but they will _have_ to accept me as the new ruler, or they will die."

"You wouldn't!" Arthur said quietly but he knew that she would. Morgana was too much like Uther in that respect; she would destroy anything and everything that got in her way, killing indiscriminately and without mercy until her goal was realized.

"I'm not like you Arthur," Morgana sneered, "I don't need the people's love or adoration, I simply need their silence and I will kill every last citizen of Camelot if that's what it takes to achieve it."

For a moment they glared at each other; Morgana's green eyes, swirling with ambition and hatred for the brother she had once respected, boring Arthur's blue ones, full of defiance and rage born of the deep sense of protectiveness he felt for his people. They were close enough to kiss, noses separated by a curtain of air so thin that it was virtually nonexistent. They refused to back down, neither one willing to submit to the other, and so they stayed locked in their silent struggle for dominance until a small sound caught their attention and brought both of their gazes to the prone form on the floor.

Merlin was coming to.

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**Please review :)**

**For everyone that wanted a super angsty reveal don't worry, I'm planning to write a VERY angsty one-shot reveal sometime in the near future.**


	14. Bound

**I know, I know, it's been almost a week since I posted last and I'm an awful person for making you wait so long but after seven tests I'm finally on spring break! I don't have to worry about school for an entire week so you can expect at least two, if not three, chapters before next weekend!**

**Okay now, read the story ;)**

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When Merlin opened his eyes he immediately wished he could close them again, everything he had done, everything he had endured was worthless because all of it had been to protect Arthur and now Morgana had the king as well. He tried to be positive, tried not to let despair overwhelm him but found that he couldn't; he'd been away from Camelot for a long time and, somewhere along the way, Morgana had taken something from him. The cheerful spark that normally hovered so close to the surface had retreated deep inside and he had become guarded, almost jaded to the world around him.

He was exhausted, far wearier than he could ever remember being and he didn't know if he had the energy to fight any longer. He had been ready to give up, to die content in the knowledge that he would forever deny Morgana the opportunity to wield his power, but now she had Arthur, and that changed everything. So long as there was even the smallest hint of life in his body he would protect the king, there was no question about that.

He couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards Arthur because it had taken the king so long to find him, he hadn't been there when Merlin needed him and, now that he had finally shown up, he'd only placed more pressure on the boy to get them both out alive. To be honest, Merlin wasn't sure that he could defeat Morgana at all, he felt so weak and helpless that he almost hated the king for putting him in this position where he seemed so likely to fail.

"You should have let me die." Merlin said, staring at the ceiling, refusing to meet Arthur's gaze, "At least then my death would have been worth something. I've always been happy to die protecting you."

"Merlin," Arthur replied sternly, clenching his jaw tightly to hide how much the complete hopelessness in his servant's words hurt him, "I could never just let you die, not if I could do something to stop it."

Merlin didn't answer, just turned his face to the wall; he didn't want Arthur to see him like this. He was disgusted by how quickly he was falling apart, it hadn't been easy, presenting such a strong face to Morgana while his doubts had torn him up inside, but now they were overwhelming. Each one clamored for his attention and he just wanted to cry because, try as he might, he couldn't think of any way to escape. He was going to fail, fail himself, fail his destiny; Morgana would kill Arthur and he would be powerless to stop it, just like he had been powerless to stop anything since she'd put those blasted bracelets on him.

"Well this is all very touching," Morgana interrupted, "but I don't have time to listen to any more of your drivel, I have a kingdom to conquer."

"I'll never join you Morgana," Merlin sighed tiredly, "nothing has changed."

"But you see Merlin," the witch crowed, barely able to contain her glee, "I never needed your compliance, I simply needed your magic to be weak enough for me to command!"

"No." Merlin whispered, not wanting to believe her, "No, that's not true, you're lying."

He was praying with every bone in his body that she was wrong but at the same time he knew that his magic was weak, the spell had taken its toll and he was more vulnerable now than he could ever remember being in his life. Even as a young child his magic had been stronger than it was at this moment and he was more than a little afraid of what would happen if Morgana did manage to gain control of it.

"How does it feel," Morgana began, circling the servant, "to know that all of your efforts have been in vain; all the pain you went through was avoidable, you could have just given in at the beginning and saved everyone the trouble, although I'll admit it's been quite fun to make you scream."

"I don't believe you." He said, but his voice sounded uncertain even to his own ears. He was starting to panic because, although he had never used his magic to its full potential, he knew that it was virtually limitless and, in the wrong hands, it could be used as a devastating force for evil. How could he live with himself if he couldn't stop her? If, with his power, she became invincible and destroyed the kingdom he and Arthur had worked so hard to build?

"Mordred and I have been biding our time, waiting for you to crack. It would have been easier if you'd given in to conventional means but we can do it without your cooperation, and we will."

As Morgana spoke, Mordred emerged from the shadows, silent as always, and came to stand beside Merlin, opposite Morgana. They clasped hands over his body and he could feel the air sparking with their magic, it brushed over his skin and he shivered because it was pure evil. He'd harbored hope since Morgana's betrayal that a trace of good remained in her but now he could tell that the girl she had once been was gone, replaced by a sinister shadow bent on conquest and revenge.

The pair began to chant, softly at first, then louder, tendrils of magic curling around their bodies and snaking out to encase their joined hands in glowing light. Their voices rose, gaining strength as Merlin tensed and beams of golden light began to shoot from his body. He tried to fight it, tried to hold his magic in and resist their pull but it was too strong. Either of them alone would have been no match for him, even in his weakened state, but together they were able to overpower him, steadily draining the magic from his body.

It was excruciating, it felt like someone was ripping him apart, tearing him limb from limb with no mercy. His magic wasn't simply a _part_ of him, it _was_ him; it was present in everything he did, everything he was, just as vital as his heart or his brain and he was fairly certain that he couldn't live without it. It was getting harder to resist, harder to think, harder to breath even and he could feel his heart slowing down as Morgana and Mordred tugged at the last stronghold, the very core of his magic.

He fought with everything he had but only managed to fend off their advances for a few seconds before the pulsing ball broke free and they pulled it greedily from his body. For a moment he lay there, gasping like a fish out of water because he couldn't breath, something was crushing his chest and there was a terrible empty ache that permeated his entire being. Then his vision dimmed, going fuzzy around the corners first and tunneling in until blackness consumed him.

…

Arthur could only watch in horror as Morgana and Mordred began to draw the magic from Merlin's body, forcing it to mesh with their own. The bright emerald green coils that framed Morgana's slim form reached for the boy, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, creating brilliant flashes of light wherever they came into contact with Mordred's dark red ones or Merlin's golden ones. She threw her head back, laughing in triumph as Merlin's back arched impossibly far off the floor, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Stop!" Arthur shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought wildly against the chains that held him in place.

But they didn't stop, they kept chanting, voices echoing with power in the small room, and suddenly pure blinding light burst from Merlin's chest, it was ten times brighter than the sun and Arthur's eyes slammed shut instinctively. The light washed over him like a tidal wave, it was warm, comforting, and so inherently good that it left him speechless.

_This_ was Merlin's magic and any doubts that the king had about the boy fled because there was no way that there had ever been even a hint of evil or malice in something so innocent, so pure. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving Arthur feeling cold and empty.

Fear paralyzed him and he almost didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to know what had happened because the chanting had stopped and the silence pressed ominously against his ears. Eventually his curiosity overpowered the dread and he cracked one eye, peering cautiously into the gloom.

Morgana and Mordred were still standing with their hands clasped, staring unwaveringly at the still from of the warlock on the floor between them. Arthur's breath caught in his throat because Merlin's chest wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing! But, before that thought even had a chance to take hold, Merlin coughed, sucking in air like he was drowning and his eyes snapped open, blazing with brilliant whirls of red, green, and gold in the darkness.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, trying to catch his manservant's attention but the boy had eyes only for Morgana. He stared at her without blinking, poised, waiting for her command. She watched him, a smile creeping across her face as she realized that it had worked, the weeks of captivity compounded with the effects of her spell had weakened the warlock's magic enough that her and Mordred's combined power had been able to subdue him.

"Kneel." She commanded, testing the strength of her control. He immediately rose from the floor, eyes never leaving her face, and knelt before her. A laugh burst from her throat, dark and sinister because nothing could stop her now, she had harnessed the power of Emrys and thwarted destiny itself. How could the boy be her doom when he knelt before her, beaten, broken, and nothing more than a slave to her will?

…

Arthur watched in shock as his manservant, who never did anything without an argument, or at least some type of complaint, knelt before Camelot's biggest enemy in submission. If Morgana had gained control of Merlin, hope was all but lost that Arthur would be able to escape, let alone recue the boy. And then there was the other, far more concerning thought: the last time Morgana had forced someone to act according to her will it had ended with one of his best knights bleeding out on the floor. He had no desire to repeat that scene with Merlin so he was going to have to be very careful, he needed to find a way to break Morgana's hold before she forced the boy to do something disastrous. His thoughts were cut short when Morgana spoke again, this time directing her words at him.

So Arthur," she sneered, stalking closer to him with Merlin in tow, the boy trailing behind her like a balloon on a string, "how does it feel to know that you will meet your end here, in this dark dungeon, never to see the light of day again? You've really made it far too easy on me, I was going to establish my control over Merlin, then hunt you down, but instead I can kill you here and march on Camelot immediately. The city will fall before me without you, their fearless leader to defend them, and I will finally be able to claim the throne that I have been destined to assume since the day I was born. Any last words, brother?"

Gathering his saliva, Arthur spat it into her smug fact. "I'll not give you the satisfaction."

"Have it your way!" she cried, angrily wiping the spit off her cheek as she drew her dagger.

Arthur glared defiantly deep into her eyes, waiting for her to make her move, slit his throat, plunge the knife into his chest, whatever she decided was the best way to kill him, but she didn't do any of those things, instead she turned to Merlin, laying a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Kill him." She directed, extending the dagger to the warlock.

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**Another cliff-hanger I know *evil laugh* but don't worry I won't make you wait so long for the next chapter this time! Please review ;D**


	15. It's a Struggle

**So... in case you hadn't noticed I'm quite the drama queen and I love suspense. Sorry in advance if this is too much for anyone to handle ;)**

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"Kill him." She directed, extending the dagger to the warlock.

Merlin started, as if surprised that she was addressing him, then slowly took the blade, wrapping his long fingers tightly around the hilt. He stared at it for a long moment, seemingly transfixed by the flickering reflection of the torchlight on the glimmering steel, and then walked purposefully to where the king was restrained against the wall.

Arthur's breath caught as he watched his manservant advance on him; he'd never imagined that it would end like this. The plan had been to go in strong and rescue Merlin no matter what, if he was able to kill Morgana in the process it would have been an added bonus, but never in a million years had he considered the possibility that the witch would capture him as well.

He should have known that nothing would go according to plan; it never did when Morgana was involved. You'd think that after spending practically his entire childhood with her he would have learned that she was not to be underestimated but for some reason he always did it anyway. He didn't know if it was the fact that she was a girl or his decidedly selective memory of their previous encounters that made him downplay her power but he was getting really tired of being at her mercy.

The Morgana that he knew, or had known at least, was hardly capable of killing him but she had changed; a fact that he chose to ignore most of the time. He didn't want it to be true, didn't want her to be different from the girl that he had grown up with but each and every time that he came into contact with her the harsh reality of the situation was glaringly obvious; the playful, mischievous, and infuriatingly annoying girl that he'd loved like a sister, even before their common parentage had been brought to light, was gone.

It was cruel, even for this malevolent creature that Morgana had become, to force Merlin to kill him; she knew that the servant would do anything in his power to defend the king and yet she had commanded him to do the opposite. The boy had always entertained the slightly misguided notion (in Arthur's opinion) that it was his destiny to protect Arthur and it would kill him to know that he had been responsible, even if it was under Morgana's influence, for the king's death. Now that Arthur thought about it, Merlin probably hadn't been exaggerating when he'd claimed that he'd saved the king's life too many times to count and he regretted that he would never get the chance to ask the boy about it.

…

Merlin was trapped, a prisoner to his own mind; he could still see everything that was going on with incredible clarity, hear Morgana's excited breathing somewhere behind him, and feel the ornate carvings on the hilt of the dagger pressing into his palm where he gripped it firmly, but he couldn't control any of it. It was morbidly ironic that the reign of the Once and Future King would end like this, that he would be killed by the very man that destiny had chosen to protect him. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the complete absurdity and hopelessness of the situation but it didn't matter because he couldn't do either, not unless Morgana commanded it.

Where had all gone wrong? When had it become so muddled? He could still remember when he'd first arrived in Camelot, his view of right and wrong, good and evil, had been so clear, so solid. He had known his convictions and stuck to them, staying loyal and true to his friends despite the dragon's pleas to do otherwise. Now he couldn't help but question the wisdom of those decisions, maybe the dragon had been right all along, maybe Morgana and Mordred were simply necessary losses for the birth of Albion. Nothing good comes without sacrifice for without knowing the pain of loss it is impossible to appreciate the joy of victory.

Protect Arthur; it had started out as such a simple task, well… simple in concept if not in practice. It had been easy to defend the prince against those who wished him ill when there was no personal connection but Morgana's betrayal had made it much more complicated. That was when the lines began to blur, when the grey had crept into his stark black and white world. What do you do when your purpose in life is at war with your convictions? How are you supposed to choose between two friends? And, most of all, how far is too far when it comes to your destiny, and the future of an entire kingdom is at stake?

He was jolted out of his thoughts as his body started walking towards Arthur; he tried to stop it but he couldn't, no matter how hard he fought his feet kept picking themselves up one after the other and moving steadily towards the king. He screamed and pleaded and beat against the walls that held him in, desperate to escape, to save Arthur, but none of it made any difference, there wasn't even the smallest hiccup in his stride and within seconds he stood before his friend.

…

Merlin stopped about a foot away from Arthur, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he turned the dagger in his hand. For a moment Arthur thought that the boy would be able to break the effects of the spell on his own, that Morgana had pushed too far by asking him to kill his king, but then he seemed to collect himself and raised his head, staring impassively at Arthur, face completely void of emotion.

Arthur couldn't tell if Merlin was still in there, if he could see what was happening, but he wanted to let the boy know that it was alright, that Arthur didn't blame him for what was about to happen so, as Merlin raised the knife over his head, preparing to drive it through the king's chest, Arthur murmured just two barely audible words, "Thank you."

The words felt strange in his mouth, foreign; everyone who'd spent even a few minutes with him knew that he didn't give them out lightly, in fact, he could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd expressed gratitude to anyone. It wasn't entirely his fault, he supposed, that he came off as an arrogant prat most of the time, he hadn't even realized the extent of his overbearing pride until Merlin had shown up in Camelot; but, in his defense, it was harder than it would seem to shake an attitude that had been pounded into him since birth.

For as long as he could remember Uther had waxed rhapsodic about the duties of a king and the privileges that come with a position of such affluence and power. Arthur could still hear his father's corrections echoing in his ears as clearly as they had when he was ten, "_Do not treat peasants as equals Arthur, a great king cannot be a friend of the people; you must rise above the masses, not consort with them._" Or "_A king never expresses his gratitude to those below his station, it is their lot in life to serve, just as it is yours to command, and they do so willingly; do not stoop to their level by offering thanks_."

When Merlin came into his life all of that had changed, the servant had broken all the rules, shattered every barrier, and cast aside the rigid social codes that Arthur had followed his whole life as if they meant nothing. He had caught Arthur completely off guard and helped him see that the path to being a great king lay, not in the unyielding conventions and strict laws of his father, but in mercy, understanding, and most of all, a genuine concern for the well-being of his people.

Over the years, Merlin had become his closest friend, his confidant, the one person that he could trust above all others and now, strange as it was, he found that he truly was grateful for everything his manservant had done for him. No matter how many times he had teased the boy or called him an idiot, he had come to value their friendship more than words could express; he had told his father that Merlin was like a brother to him but that barely scratched the surface of the bond he felt with the boy, it went so much deeper than any of his other relationships, even his connection with Gwen paled in comparison.

Sometimes the depth of emotion he felt for the boy scared him but he guessed it shouldn't, now that he knew about their destiny it just seemed right; of course their friendship was powerful, it had been written in the stars since the beginning of time! In a way he was glad that Merlin would be the one to wield the knife, better to die at the hand of his best friend than live at the mercy of his greatest enemy.

He raised his head, locking his gaze with Merlin's, piercing blue eyes refusing to leave the swirling red, green, and gold one's of his friend. For a moment nothing happened, they stayed frozen, barely breathing as they stared at each other, then the knife began to tremble in Merlin's hand and the gold pulsed brighter in his eyes.

Morgana, who was watching from the sidelines, felt her heart rate quicken as she waited to see what would happen. To see if her control would be strong enough to hold, strong enough to supersede the bond that obviously existed between the king and his servant.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him!" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady to hide her uncertainty, it had to work, she and Mordred had used the most powerful binding spell in existence!

At Morgana's words the gold in Merlin's eyes receded slightly and the green became more prominent; he tightened his grip on the knife, knuckles turning white with the effort and raised the dagger another fraction of an inch. His body was taught as a bowstring, tendons standing out in stark relief. Tension radiated off him in waves and, as Arthur watched, a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

There seemed to be some kind of massive internal struggle taking place inside his manservant's lean frame and the brilliant colors that had been spinning languidly in the boy's eyes before were now whirling madly. They snapped and sparked like fireworks as first one color, then another, was brought to the forefront. Arthur wanted the gold to overpower the other two, wanted Merlin to be able to throw off Morgana's influence but, as the struggle continued, the flashes of gold became less and less frequent, giving way to the vibrant nefarious green of the witch's magic.

The king closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate, and waited for the mortal blow that would end it all, but it never came. Instead his eyes flew open again as the shrill cries of his sister filled the dungeon.

"Kill him!" Morgana screamed, face turning red with impatience even as panic flooded through her, "Do it now!"

Then suddenly, before Arthur even had a chance to blink the knife was plunging down with incredible speed, racing past him as Merlin buried the blade deep in his own chest with a primal cry.

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**Before you yell at me I'll tell you: this is not a deathfic, I just like writing fics were Merlin almost dies so please review!**


	16. A Chance

**Here's the next chapter... get ready for the angst!**

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Then suddenly, before Arthur even had a chance to blink, the knife was plunging down with incredible speed, racing past him as Merlin buried the blade deep in his own chest with a primal cry.

"No!" Morgana screamed as her weapon, her newest acquisition, defied her direct order and pushed the knife through his own chest rather than that of the king.

She had worked so hard for this, planned for so long, and for what? She could feel her victory slipping through her fingers; she _needed_ Merlin! Everything hinged on this, Camelot was strong and it would be close to impossible to take the city without the boy's power at her command. To have even the slightest chance of breaching the citadel she would need an army, something that would take a substantial amount of time and effort to build, time and effort that she couldn't afford to waste on a venture that would likely amount to nothing. She had put all her eggs into one basket and now that basket had gone crashing to the ground, leaving her empty handed with nothing to show for months of planning and preparation.

She should have seen this coming, should have known that it was too soon, that her control was still too new, too fragile, for her to ask Merlin to do something of this magnitude. If only she had reigned in her pride and waited patiently for her authority to mature but no, she just _had_ to get impatient didn't she? She was such an idiot; she just had to let her big ego get in the way. She'd waited years for Arthur's death, would waiting a few more days really be too much to ask? And now she'd ruined everything, Merlin was as good as dead and she had once again failed to bend Emrys to her will, even after allying herself with… wait a minute, perhaps all was not lost after all.

"Mordred!" Morgana yelled, but she didn't need to, the druid boy was already kneeling at Merlin's side weaving the wound back together.

A malicious grin spread across Morgana's face as she watched because Merlin wasn't going to thwart her that easily and, if anything, his near death experience would magnify the power of her spell. His magic would be focused on keeping him alive rather than fending her off and, by the time he woke up, he would be irrevocably, incontestably, and inescapably under her control.

The boy hadn't done anything other than weaken himself and delay the king's inevitable demise, but the witch had learned a valuable lesson, next time she would not let her thirst for vengeance cloud her judgment. When the boy recovered he would learn that not even death could offer an escape from her and she intended to use that to her full advantage.

…

Merlin knew what he had to do, had known since Morgana ordered him to kill the king. He didn't need to break her hold for very long, all he needed was one minute; a single moment of clarity to destroy her plans forever. He knew he wouldn't make it far even if they did manage to elude Morgana, and Arthur would have a much better chance of escaping alone, without Merlin to slow him down.

There was a moment of indecision when he considered the possibility that Arthur wouldn't be able to escape, that by killing himself he was abandoning the king to the witch's mercy, but he pushed it out of his mind. Arthur was smart, he would find a way to escape Morgana and return to Camelot. This was the best option, Morgana wouldn't be able to take the city without his help, it was too strong, too heavily guarded; her magic alone, even when combined with Mordred's, was no match for the highly trained knights of Camelot.

It was an easy choice when it came down to it, Arthur's life was far more valuable than his own and it was his destiny to protect the king, no matter the cost. It would be better for everyone if he was dead, having made up his mind he set to work but it was easier said than done to break Morgana's spell. He wouldn't have been able to do it at all without Arthur. He had been fighting a losing battle when the king had thanked him, it was such a surprise that his magic managed to gain the upper hand.

After that it was simply a matter of shaking her enough that he was in control of his limbs, most importantly the knife that was pointed dangerously at the king's chest. It took a while but eventually the depth of his connection with the king gave him the strength he needed and, once he was free, he didn't hesitate.

Merlin hardly felt the blade as it slipped between his ribs and a smile slide across his face as he fell to his knees. He raised his head to meet Arthur's shocked gaze, trying to communicate everything he wanted to say with his eyes, which had returned to their normal blue.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, then his eyes slipped closed and he collapsed to the ground.

…

Arthur's world stopped the moment Merlin plunged the blade through his own chest. He couldn't breath, he tried to draw in air but his lungs wouldn't work so he just stood there, mouth hanging open, gasping like a fish out of water. Something heavy was crushing his chest, bearing down so hard that he felt certain he would break into a million pieces under the pressure.

Morgana was yelling but he couldn't hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. He felt like the knife had pierced his chest instead of Merlin's and it hurt, it hurt so bad. He had never felt anything like this before, like a huge part of him had been ripped out and, in the place where it had been, there was only emptiness, horrible, terrible emptiness that seemed to stretch on forever and he knew, knew deep in his heart that no one else would ever be able to fill that void.

His heart was racing, throbbing painfully with each beat and he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and yell and let out all of his emotions but he couldn't, his voice refused to work. He felt like he was underwater, everything was moving so slowly and the bits of conversation that managed to reach his ears were broken, they got lost somewhere before his brain, and he couldn't, for the life of him, make sense of anything.

His vision narrowed, going black around the edges until all he could see was Merlin, poor, cheerful, optimistic Merlin. The boy was still on his feet, clutching the hilt of the knife tightly where it protruded from his chest, heedless to the blood that bubbled up around his fingers and dripped down the plane of his stomach, painting his pale skin a gruesome red. It spattered noisily to the floor, the rhythmic sound somehow able to pierce through the numbness that surrounded the king.

The corners of Merlin's mouth were raised in a slight trembling smile, the pain in his eyes overshadowed by triumph as he jerked the blade roughly from his chest. He stumbled back a few steps before sinking to his knees, hands going instinctively to the wound, but his eyes never left Arthur's. He mouthed something indecipherable then leaned forward, thin frame shuddering as he coughed violently, spitting blood onto the floor. He glanced up one last time, locking his gaze with Arthur's before his eyes rolled into his head and he slumped lifelessly to the floor.

"No," Arthur breathed, finally finding his voice but unable to produce more than a hoarse whisper, "Merlin, no."

Tears burned at the back of his eyes and he let them come, let them slip silently down his cheeks, blurring the pale form of his manservant almost beyond recognition. There was so much he'd wanted to say, so much he'd wanted to do but now it was too late. He closed his eyes, holding back a sob as he realized that he would never again get to hear the boy's contagious laugh, or watch a cheeky smile light up his whole face, and suddenly he was angry. So angry that he failed to notice Mordred crouching beside the still figure of his manservant.

He was angry at Morgana for putting them in this situation, angry at Merlin for sacrificing himself, and most of all, angry at himself for not being able to stop it. He could feel the white-hot rage building deep in his gut and he let it course through him, setting his thoughts on fire. He tensed his muscles, straining against the chains that held him in place as a growl started low in his throat, exploding outward as his eyes snapped open.

"MORGANA!"

The witch jumped slightly, startled by the pure hatred in her brother's tone, but soon composed herself, approaching the king with a regalness that even Uther would have been proud of. She seemed to glide across the floor with her shoulders back, chin raised, emitting an air of cool confidence that contrasted greatly with Arthur's unrestrained fury.

"Yes, what is it?" She asked, looking down her nose at him with barely concealed disgust.

"You will pay for this!" Arthur hissed with a vengeful light in his eye, "This time you've gone too far and you _will_ pay!"

"I don't think you quite understand, Arthur," Morgana sighed as she toyed disinterestedly with her fingernails, "you are in no position to make threats. You may hold the throne of Camelot but here the authority belongs to me, and me alone."

She punctuated the last part with a slight raise of her eyebrow and a sideways glance that left Arthur wanting to punch the smirk right off her smug face. She may have the upper hand now, but it wouldn't last forever and Arthur vowed that when he got free, which he would, he would make her pay for everything she had done to him, to Camelot, and most of all, to Merlin.

"I have some things to attend to now," Morgana said, trailing her fingers gently down the side of Arthur's face, "but don't worry, we'll be seeing each other again very soon."

Arthur glared at her, shaking with rage as she walked away; that woman may have been his sister once but no more. As far as he was concerned, she had never existed.

"Oh," She said, spinning in the doorway to glance at Arthur one last time, "I suppose you'll be wanting to check on Merlin."

Before the king had a chance to process her words, her eyes flashed gold and the chains released their grip. He stumbled forward a few steps, then found his bearings and sprinted towards the door but it slammed shut before he could reach it. He pounded his fists against the wood but it refused to give and he heard Morgana's self-satisfied chuckle drifting down the hallway as she swept away.

He slid down against the door, dropping his head to his hands in defeat; everything he'd done, all of his efforts had been in vain because Merlin was dead and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. He could barely make out the boy's form, a white smudge in the darkness, but he crawled towards it, needing to touch him, needing to be near him. He clasped Merlin's cold hand between his own, sliding his calloused palms over the boy's long fingers as he felt tears threaten again.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He whispered, forcing the words past the lump in his throat, "This is my fault, all my fault."

A hot tear slid down his cheek and he laid his head on Merlin's chest, wrapping an arm around the boy's waist for comfort. For a moment he stayed there, breathing in the scent that belonged only to Merlin, then he froze because he thought he'd heard… but no, it couldn't be, it was just his mind playing tricks on him, wishful thinking. But it came again, and again, the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat.

He held his breath, pressing his ear to his friend's ribs; it was slow and weak but it was definitely there. He didn't know how or why the boy had survived but all that mattered was that he was alive. He was alive! Arthur wanted to jump and dance and laugh at the pure joy that was bubbling through his soul, warming him from his head to the tips of his toes. Merlin wasn't dead, he was alive, and as long as his heart was beating there was a chance that they would both make it out alive and everything could go back to the way that it was meant to be.

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**Guess what? I wrote a chapter without a huge cliffhanger! Please review and tell me what you thought :)**


	17. Acceptance

**I apologize profusely that this wasn't up sooner, my internet has been absolutely atrocious for the past few days and my sister finally got home from Hawaii so, needless to say, updating this story wasn't the first thing on my priority list but it's up now!**

**I hope you enjoy the chapter, it has some much needed interaction between Merlin and Arthur (finally!)**

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Despite the uncertainty of the situation Arthur must have fallen asleep sometime after Morgana left and he woke with a crick in his neck, muscles protesting the hours he'd spent on the stone floor. The first thing he did was check on Merlin, the servant hadn't moved and he still appeared to be unconscious, but Arthur breathed a sigh of relief because the boy's heartbeat seemed to be getting stronger. After that he stood, stretching to relieve his aching muscles and explored the cell in the dark, running his hands along the walls to check for weaknesses.

He hadn't really expected to find anything, Merlin had been here for weeks and hadn't managed to find a way out, but he needed something to do, something to occupy his mind and keep him from dwelling too much on Merlin's… suicide… for that was what it had been. He couldn't say he was surprised that the boy had chosen to sacrifice himself but that didn't make him any less angry. How many times had they had this conversation? It didn't matter that Arthur was a king; his life was worth no more than Merlin's and he really whished that the servant would place as much value on his own life as he did on Arthur's.

Finishing his inspection of the small room, Arthur continued to pace, working off his nervous energy as his mind raced, struggling to come up with a way out of their current situation. It was down to him to defeat Morgana, if Merlin's near comatose state was any indication of how much help the warlock would be in their escape, and to do that he would need a sword. Not that his sword had proved particularly effectual against her magic before, but she was as human as anyone else, one well placed blow was all he would need to end her life, and for that he would need the element of surprise. Even the greatest warrior can be defeated by a surprise attack and that was exactly what he needed to do, catch her off guard.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice when Merlin started to stir, eyes roving fretfully beneath closed lids. It was only when his manservant's panicked whimpers filled the air that Arthur became fully aware of his surroundings. He immediately dropped to his knees and felt his way to where the boy lay, taking Merlin's hand in his own once again.

"Merlin." Arthur said, rubbing small circles in the back of his servant's hand with his thumb, "It's alright, don't worry, everything's going to be alright."

Merlin subconsciously turned his face towards the king's voice, muttering frantically in his sleep and Arthur leaned closer, struggling to make out the boy's words.

"Sorry" Merlin mumbled, sleep garbling his words until only a few were intelligible, "have to… protect… please don't… Arthur."

"It's alright Merlin," Arthur repeated, "I'm right here."

For a moment the boy seemed to relax, then he started thrashing his head back and forth violently, tone becoming increasingly more urgent, "NO! Stop, Morgana, stop, leave him alone!"

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, slightly alarmed at his manservant's sudden change in behavior, but the boy didn't answer, just continued to thrash around restlessly on the floor.

His breaths were coming much too fast and unsteadily for Arthur's comfort and, after a moment of hesitation, the king grabbed his servant's shoulders and shook them hard, yelling for his friend to wake up. It took a few minutes but eventually Merlin's eyelids fluttered open to reveal startling gold irises that glowed brightly in the dark and, before Arthur knew what was happening, he was flying through the air, pushed away from the boy with surprising force.

The burst of power was accompanied by a blood-curdling scream that chilled Arthur to the bone, a scream that he had become far too accustomed to hearing as of late, one that he'd hoped he would never have to hear again. His manservant's name was forming on his lips when he crashed against the wall heavily, the impact forcing all the air from his lungs. He slumped to the floor stunned and shook his head a few times to clear the ringing in his ears, then rubbed his chest until he could breath again.

By the time he had recovered enough to focus, Merlin's screams had subsided to short gasping breaths that sounded suspiciously like sobs. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea, considering what Merlin had been through in the past few weeks, to shake him awake from what had obviously been a nightmare, he'd probably frightened the boy half to death.

"Merlin?" Arthur called tentatively, deciding it was best to stay where he was until the vertigo subsided, "Are you alright?"

The sobs stopped abruptly and a clinking sound came out of the darkness as Merlin moved around, presumably propping himself into a sitting position against the opposite wall.

"I'm sorry," Arthur began when the boy didn't answer, "I should have known better than to wake you like that."

"You're not mad then?" Merlin asked fearfully.

"Mad?" Arthur replied, genuinely confused as to why he would be angry, "Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know," Merlin retorted, tone dripping with sarcasm and more than a little trepidation, "maybe because I just threw you across the room with _magic_?"

"Oh." Arthur said, realizing that while he had known about the boy's magic for what seemed like ages now, they hadn't really gotten the chance to talk it over, "That."

"Yes…" Merlin replied hesitantly, "that."

"Weeeell." Arthur said, drawing out the word as he rested his head against the wall behind him and let his eyes slip closed, "Morgana told me about your magic right after she caught me, I think she was trying to turn us against each other but I wasn't about to play into her hand. I was hurt and a bit angry at first, but now that I've had time to process it, I think I understand your reasons for hiding it from me, even if I don't agree with them."

The silence that followed stretched for so long that Arthur began to feel exceedingly concerned about his manservant's welfare; in fact, he had just opened his mouth to speak again when Merlin's stuttered reply reached him.

"R-really?"

Merlin couldn't believe it, he'd dreaded this day for years, spent hours upon hours agonizing over what it would be like when Arthur found out about his magic. Would the king banish him? Lock him up? Order him to be executed? Kill him on the spot? An endless stream of increasingly violent and disturbing scenarios had left Merlin tossing and turning in his bed late into the night on more occasions than he could count and, now that the day was finally here, it felt surreal.

He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, fantasizing about the king finally, finally, finally accepting him, _all_ of him, for who he really was, but the slight pain that traveled up his arm told him that this wasn't a dream, it was reality. He hadn't known how Arthur would react when he found out about the magic but the times when he'd allowed himself to imagine the king accepting him with open arms had been few and far between. He knew, probably better than most, what Arthur was capable of when he lost control of his temper, and it had seemed far more likely that the king would kill him than accept him after such a revelation.

He supposed he had Morgana to thank for the king's positive reception of his magic because there was no doubt in his mind that, if the situation had been different, Arthur would have been much less understanding. Perhaps this had been destiny's plan all along, to reveal his magic in an environment where Arthur had no choice but to accept it. If that was the case, and he and Arthur were able to emerge from this horrific situation one step closer to the completion of Albion, then he would reflect on his captivity with nothing but gratitude; all in all, the pain was a small price to pay for the fulfillment of his destiny.

He realized, a little belatedly, that Arthur had started talking again and focused his attention on the king once more, hoping he hadn't missed anything of great importance.

"… don't know how we're going to get out of this one but first I need to know, honestly, so don't lie to me, how badly are you injured?"

"I'm fine." Merlin replied automatically, flinching as Arthur's exasperated sigh filled the room.

"I told you not to lie to me Merlin," Arthur growled, disappointment bleeding through his tone, "I heard you, you know, when you did magic. Merlin, that didn't sound like someone who's fine. You… well you…"

"It alright Arthur," Merlin interrupted bitterly, "You can just say it, I screamed, screamed like a little girl."

"I wasn't going to say it like that." Arthur said, struggling to keep the sympathy out of his tone, he knew Merlin didn't want his pity, he wouldn't want it either if the roles had been reversed and, despite the number of times he'd called his manservant weak, or compared him to a girl, he didn't mean any of it. To the contrary he knew that Merlin was, by far, the strongest and bravest man he'd ever met, and that included himself, although he'd never admit that bit to anyone out loud.

The silence stretched until the tension in the room was almost palpable, the air so thick with discomfort that he could have cut it with a knife. Arthur racked his brain for something to say without setting Merlin off again but he was in completely uncharted territory here, with this new Merlin, the Merlin that was so similar, and yet so different, from the carefree servant who'd left Camelot weeks ago. Morgana had taken something from the boy, something important; she'd stolen his innocence and dimmed, perhaps forever, the cheerful spark that had so attracted Arthur to him since their first meeting.

"It's just…" Arthur began, choosing his words more carefully, "I need you to be completely honest with me because we're probably only going to get one chance at an escape, and we can't afford to overestimate our strength or underestimate theirs."

"I know." Merlin sighed, self-loathing dissipating as he realized the truth in Arthur's words. He hated feeling so helpless, especially in front of the king who never seemed to loose his sense of authority; even now, when their chances of escaping alive were slim to none, Arthur had taken charge of the situation in a way that would have made any battle-hardened veteran proud.

The problem was, Merlin knew with absolute certainty that the only way to get Arthur out of here alive was to use his magic, and he wasn't sure that he would be able to do that. The magic that had sent the king flying across the room had been purely instinctual, not directed at the bracelets in any way, and yet the repercussions had been almost unbearable. The current that ran through his body had left him barely able to function, huddled on his side in the fetal position as wave after wave of agonizing pain washed through him. How was he supposed to use enough magic to save Arthur when the backlash from that one simple spell had left him gasping for air on the edge of consciousness?

Not to mention the fact that he could still feel Morgana's poisonous magic coursing through his veins. He wasn't sure how strong her hold over him would be, now that he'd thrown her off once, but it certainly wasn't something to be taking chances with. If he had to, he was fairly certain that he could break her control but it would leave him incapacitated, just like using magic in spite of the cuffs would. He would have to find some way to make Arthur leave him behind because, if the king tried to rescue him, he would never be able to outrun Morgana.

"I'm afraid I won't be much help." Merlin said dejectedly, praying that the king had a feasible plan that didn't involve his magic, "I can't do much of anything with these bracelets suppressing my power."

"I see." Arthur answered after a moment of silence; he was careful to keep the emotion out of his voice because he didn't want Merlin to know how worried he was. He'd suspected that Morgana had found some way to keep the boy's power in check, otherwise Merlin would have escaped long ago, but he couldn't help the disappointment that flashed through him at his servant's words. If the boy's screams were any indication of the pain he felt after using his magic then Arthur was extremely reluctant to ask him to do it again. He had to admit, no matter how much it pained him, that using Merlin's power might be the only way out, and that left a cold pit in the bottom of his stomach because he didn't know if he could stand listening to his servant's screams long enough to defeat Morgana.

"Listen, Arthur…" Merlin began, trailing off as he tried to work up the courage to tell the king what they needed to do; it was clear to him that the only way for Arthur to escape would be for Merlin to sacrifice himself as a distraction, allowing the king to slip away and, hopefully, make it back to safety before Morgana caught up with him.

"Stop right there." Arthur commanded, "I know exactly what you're going to say and it's not even an option."

"No," Merlin pleaded, "you don't understand."

"I understand perfectly," Arthur said icily, "and I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me, not again."

"It's the only way." Merlin replied, desperation creeping into his tone, "I've told you before, I'm happy to-"

"No!" Arthur shouted, cutting Merlin off, "I don't care if you're happy to die for me, I'm not going to let you do that. You don't understand Merlin, all that time when we were searching for you, when we thought you were dead… those were the worst days of my life. I was so… lost, I didn't know what to do, didn't even recognize myself. I can't bear to go through that again, to _lose_ you again. We'll either return to Camelot together or not at all."

Merlin was taken aback by the depth of emotion in the king's words, it was so out of character for Arthur to show even a hint of what he was feeling that, for a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond; evidently he wasn't the only one who had changed in recent weeks. He understood how Arthur felt, better than the king could, and would, ever know; he'd felt that terrible empty ache, as if half his soul had been ripped from his body, on several occasions, the most memorable being when he'd seen Arthur lying deathly ill after the questing beast had bitten him.

He knew what it was to feel so lost and confused that you don't know which way to turn but he also knew that the king was strong and, given time, he would recover from Merlin's death. Arthur had Gwen, and his entire kingdom to think about; he might grieve for a while but eventually he would move on with his life and finish building the empire that Merlin had helped him start.

"It's my destiny to protect you Arthur," Merlin said softly, "it always has been and always will be. If it comes to a choice between my life and yours…"

Arthur held his breath as Merlin's words trailed off into meaningful silence; the warlock might be determined to protect him but he was equally determined to protect the boy. He vowed to himself that he would not let _any_one hurt Merlin, no matter what, and then answered brightly, forcing a cheerfulness he didn't feel into his tone.

"I guess all we can do is hope that it doesn't come to that."

"Yes," Merlin replied wearily, "we can hope."

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**I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, finals are fast approaching and professors are piling on the work but please take a few minutes to review :)**

**Oh yeah, I'm aware that I promised an angsty reveal before the end of the month but that's not going to happen. I am working on it but it's turning out to be longer and more difficult to write than I originally planned. It will probably be a short multi-chapter ****fic (maybe 3-4 chapters) and I'll get the first part posted as soon as I decide on an ending.**


	18. Biding Time

**Well, it's not exactly afternoon like I told you but it's pretty close right? I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter but I finally had to force myself to stop messing with it and just post it because I promised to update today. Please don't hesitate to tell me if there is anything awful you'd like me to rewrite and I'll do my best to make it better.**

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After their conversation, Merlin and Arthur sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. They knew they didn't have long before Morgana came back so they were desperate to come up with a plan. The only problem was that Morgana was almost entirely unpredictable and neither of them could guess what she was going to do next.

Arthur fought down his anxiety by reasoning that he was better at improvising anyway; he'd found that no matter how brilliantly constructed a plan was, things rarely went smoothly and he often had to make things up as he went along. The best leaders were the ones that were pliable and able to adapt quickly to new situations; Arthur liked to think that he was flexible, that he could bend in the face of a strong wind and come out stronger, rather than stand rigid and break, but he supposed that only time would tell in this situation.

His main priority was to keep Merlin away from Morgana and he planned to do that by getting his hands on a weapon as soon as possible. He would ambush the witch the next time she entered the room and turn her own weapon against her; he would have to move quickly, but not even she could use magic against him with a knife pressed to her throat, it all hinged on whether or not he could move faster than she could react.

One thing that worried Arthur more than he wanted to admit was Mordred, the boy was a wild card and the king couldn't get a good read on him. He would have thought that the druid boy's conscience would keep him from hurting either Merlin or Arthur, they had both played key roles in helping him escape from the city all those years ago, but apparently he had been wrong. He'd been taken aback by the amount of glee on Mordred's face as he'd ripped Merlin's magic from his body, it had almost matched Morgana's and that concerned the king.

He didn't want to kill the boy but he wouldn't hesitate to do so if Mordred got in the way of his and Merlin's escape. After that thought, Arthur felt slightly more confident, he was Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot and the best swordsman in all of Albion, if he couldn't get them out of this, no one could. Nodding his head contentedly, Arthur closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall but he didn't relax, not completely, he was ready to move into position the minute he heard Morana's footsteps in the hallway. It had been extremely arrogant and foolish of the witch to leave him in the cell unrestrained and, with any luck, it would prove to be their salvation.

…

On the opposite side of the dark room, Merlin was similarly occupied with his own thoughts; almost immediately after Arthur had finished speaking the warlock focused his attention inward, blocking out his surroundings as he explored the hold Morgana had on him. She had used a powerful spell, there was no doubt about that, but it might not be as hard as he'd first thought to break it.

The monumental effort it had taken to refrain from killing Arthur had only been necessary because Morgana's torture had virtually drained him of his magic. What she didn't, couldn't, realize was the full extent of his power, it wasn't something that he possessed in fixed amounts, it was organic, always growing and changing; she'd probably assumed that once it was gone it would not come back but nothing could be further from the truth. He wasn't a petty magician who merely _used_ magic, he _was_ magic.

She and Mordred may have tainted the minimal amount of power he'd had left after her torture but Mordred's healing spell had facilitated the gradual return of his magic, magic that was untouched by their spell, and he could feel himself growing stronger by the minute. He was nowhere near full capacity, his strength still much diminished from weeks of captivity, but he was fairly certain that the quantity of untainted magic in his body outweighed the corrupted one.

He would be able to resist Morgana without too much effort but the bracelets were a different story, he didn't know where she'd gotten them but he had to assume they were ancient because they contained a far more powerful curse than she would ever be able to produce. He needed to be careful; he couldn't afford to lose consciousness because, as soon as he did, Arthur would be completely at the mercy of their captors.

No matter how powerful he was, his body was still weak and once it betrayed him he was as vulnerable and helpless as anyone else; that was how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place. Granted, he'd been mortally wounded at the time, but Morgana was only able to contain his magic because he had been unable to defend himself, that would not happen again, it couldn't, he wouldn't allow it, not while he had Arthur to worry about.

Morgana was smart; she knew exactly what she was doing and he couldn't afford to slip up or make a mistake. He would need to hide his growing power; he couldn't afford to waste it by resisting trivial commands. For now he would play along, he was content to participate in Morgana's little games as long as she wasn't hurting Arthur but if she laid so much as a finger on the king she would pay for it with her life.

There was the sound of a door opening in the distance, followed by a laugh that was slightly muffled by the thick wood of the door to their cell and Merlin tensed in anticipation. He wasn't scared of Morgana, she couldn't control him any longer, no matter how much she wanted to; he was tired of her taunts and he was ready to put her in her place, she wouldn't be so quick to scoff in his face when the balance of power shifted in _his_ favor.

Something brushed against Merlin's arm and he flinched, opening his mouth to cry out, but before he could make a sound, a hand covered his lips.

"Sshhhh." Arthur whispered, hot breath tickling Merlin's ear, "Stay here, I'm going to ambush her when she walks in."

Merlin nodded and Arthur took his hand away from the boy's mouth, normally Merlin wasn't so quick to comply but the king didn't question it, he was just thankful that the servant had agreed without a fight, Merlin could be extremely stubborn and they didn't have time for that right now.

Feeling his way across the floor, Arthur found the door and flattened himself against the wall beside it, he closed his eyes so that the light wouldn't blind him when the door opened, then he waited, straining his ears for the footsteps that would signify Morgana's approach.

…

Normally Merlin wouldn't have agreed to Arthur's plan so readily and he certainly wouldn't have consented to staying out of the way, but Arthur was good at what he did and there was a small chance that he would succeed; if not Merlin would be there to help but he didn't want to exhaust himself pointlessly or lose the only advantage he currently had. Morgana had no idea how strong he was and he planned to keep it that way, right up until the moment he defeated her.

A key turned in the lock and Merlin heard Arthur's soft intake of breath as the door creaked open, hinges protesting loudly, to reveal Morgana. She stood on the threshold for a moment without noticing the king, torch in her hand casting deep shadows across Arthur's face. Merlin could tell that Arthur was waiting for the opportune moment to act by the way the king's fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides and he crossed his fingers, hoping that the plan would work and they would be able to escape.

Morgana stepped into the room and Arthur instantly sprung into action, throwing a muscled arm around his sister's neck and pulling until she was flush against him. She dropped the torch in surprise as the king flexed his arm, cutting off her air supply, and Merlin watched as it rolled across the uneven floor of the cell, flickering light casting drunken shadows on the walls as Morgana struggled futilely against Arthur's hold.

"You shouldn't have left me unbound." Arthur whispered in his sister's ear, pressing his forearm tighter against her throat, crushing her windpipe until she was only able to emit short choking gasps with each breath.

There was a time when Merlin might have pitied her, despite all the power and influence she had gained she was reduced to this, being choked to death by her own brother in the very cell where she held him captive; but the time for pity, for empathy had passed, Morgana had sealed her fate the moment she commanded Merlin to kill Arthur. He felt only relief, relief that Morgana would be gone, incapable of hurting either of them ever again. Relief that he wasn't the one who'd had to kill her, not that he couldn't have done it, he could and would have, but he was glad nevertheless that he wouldn't have to live with her death on his conscience.

He already had more than enough guilt to worry about, sometimes he could feel it bearing down on him, crushing the joy and life out of him as he remembered all the people he'd killed, all the friends who'd given their lives to protect him and his secret; it was overwhelming. Those were the times when he wished that it didn't have to be him, that destiny would have chosen someone else to protect the king; he had never asked for this and he had never imagined that it would be so painful. In those unguarded moments he would let his shoulders slump forward in defeat because he didn't know if it was worth it, if it would ever be worth it; he was willing to sacrifice everything he had for Arthur and yet it seemed unfair that so many innocent people had to die to bring about the reign of the Once and Future King.

He knew what was going to happen the minute before Mordred burst through the door. He had heard Morgana's mental plea for the druid boy to save her but he didn't even have time to warn Arthur before the king slumped to the ground, unconscious. Mordred dropped his arm, gold fading slowly from his eyes and ran to where Morgana crouched on the floor; she was heaving in giant gasps of air, one hand resting against the wall to steady her while the other massaged her abused throat.

Merlin was torn, he wanted nothing more than to grab Arthur and run, get as far away from the witch as they could but, at the same time, he knew that to do so would be nearly impossible. There was no way that he could physically carry Arthur as long as the king was unconscious and he would have to use magic to get past Morgana and Mordred. Even if he was able to withstand the pain long enough to defeat them, which he doubted he would be, he would have to wait for Arthur to wake up before they could start the journey back to Camelot, and that was the best case scenario.

Chances are it would turn out much worse and they would be back where they started, completely at Morgana's mercy and without any advantage or hope of escape. For now it was better to wait, bide his time, the longer he waited the more strength he would have and he would need all the strength he could get to take on Morgana and Mordred. Arthur wasn't in any immediate danger and they could afford to wait just a little longer.

Across the cell, Mordred helped Morgana to her feet, trying to pull her arm around his shoulders so he could support her as she walked out of the cell, but she pushed him away, snarling in anger. She swept the hair off her forehead and turned to Merlin, lip curling in a smirk

"You may have defied me before _Emrys_, but no longer; I will have my revenge. As soon as Arthur wakes I will kill him, I want to look into his face and watch as the light fades from his eyes. He will die, and there is nothing you can do to stop me this time."

With that she turned on her heel, snapping her fingers over her shoulder to encase Arthur's wrists and ankles in chains before slamming the door shut with a resounding clang.

Merlin had some work to do.

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**I will post the next chapter one week from today at the latest, hopefully sooner... Please review!**


	19. Last Hope

**More whump! Yay! I literally just finished writing this so I might be tweaking a few things later but nothing major. I had to post it now or wait until tomorrow when I get internet connection again. I realize that I haven't responded to reviews yet... I'll do it later tonight or tomorrow, promise! Hope you enjoy it ;)**

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As soon as Morgana left, Merlin started trying to do magic, he'd been hoping that it wouldn't' come to this but now it was unavoidable; if he was going to break Arthur out of here he would need to be able to tolerate the pain for longer than a few seconds, much longer, and that would take practice. His substantial power would be absolutely worthless if using it left him completely incapacitated because he knew for certain that it would take more than one spell to get past their captors. He couldn't and wouldn't allow himself to give in to the pain until he was absolutely sure that the king was safe.

He decided to start small, creating a tiny yellow flame that flickered happily in the palm of his hand. It was one of the simplest spells he knew and yet he was only able to hold it for a few seconds before it sputtered out and he sagged against the wall, breathing heavily. He bit his lip to hold in the scream that was clawing at his throat and his mouth immediately filled with the sharp metallic tang of blood. He spit it out before it had the chance to slide down the back of his throat and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, this definitely wasn't going to be easy.

After resting for a few minutes he tried again. This time the flame was a little brighter and he was able to hold it for slightly longer, screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the agony that threatened his tenuous hold on consciousness. Letting the flame die, Merlin waited until the pain receded, then wiped at the beads of sweat that had formed along his hairline; it wasn't good enough, he'd have to do much better if there was to be any hope of saving Arthur.

Fueled by his anger, the third flame leapt higher and he was able to hold it for an entire minute before a scream tore itself from his throat and black dots swarmed his vision. He managed to keep from losing consciousness, but just barely, and by the time the pain passed he was curled in a shivering ball on the floor. His chest heaved as he gulped in giant breaths of air and tried to focus on anything other than the horrible fire that was burning its way through his body.

He didn't want to do it again, didn't want to let his magic out knowing what it would feel like but he didn't have a choice. If it had only been himself that he had to worry about he would have given up long ago but he wasn't alone, Arthur was here, and now Merlin's magic was their only hope for escape. Frankly he didn't care if he made it out alive but Arthur… Arthur had a great destiny, he had Gwen and Camelot to worry about, and that made all the difference for Merlin.

He couldn't give up, he would never give up, not until Arthur was safe, so he took a deep breath and slowly pushed himself up to lean against the wall. He probably didn't have long before Morgana came back and he had to be able to use his magic when she did. He had no doubt that her vow to kill Arthur was not an idle threat and this was his last chance to save the king.

His hand trembled as he held it out, palm facing up, so he rested it on his leg and concentrated on taking short breaths through his nose to calm his racing heart. It was going to hurt; he knew it was going to hurt so he might as well get on with it. Nodding his head decisively, his eyes glowed gold and the flame appeared in his hand again, this time it was a slightly more complex and the bright yellow was shot through with streaks of orange and red, in the very middle was a tiny bobbing bluish purple sphere. The colors made Merlin smile because he was finally getting somewhere, this was a flame that could do some damage, and that was definitely an improvement.

He found that if he concentrated entirely on the magic, he was able to dull his senses enough to ride out the pain for a significantly longer amount of time, it didn't take the pain away, just took the edge off; it was still excruciating but he was able to keep it from completely overwhelming him. It was almost as if he was detached from his body, his magic was able to create a mental block that allowed him to register the pain and yet not feel it to its full extent. If he could focus completely on the spells, he would able to remain conscious until Morgana and Mordred had been defeated.

As soon as he released the magic he discovered the downside of that plan. He had fought the curse in the bracelets for much longer than he had ever tried to before and as soon as the mental block disappeared the agony washed over him full force. It was worse than anything he'd ever felt before, worse than Morgana's torture, worse even than the feeling of having his magic, the very source of his life, ripped from his body.

He screamed until his throat was raw, cries echoing off the walls of the cell and multiplying tenfold inside his pounding head. He writhed on the floor, trying to find a position that would bring even the smallest hint of comfort but nothing worked, there was nothing he could do but wait for it to subside. The only problem was that it seemed to be growing, increasing exponentially and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it.

His entire body was shaking, muscles contracting violently as they tried to drive out the pain and he could feel himself loosing his hold on consciousness. He tried to fend off the darkness because he couldn't afford to pass out, he needed to remain aware and alert. What if Morgana came back and killed Arthur while he was out cold on the floor, unable to stop her?

He felt like he was hanging off a ledge, watching as his fingers lost their grip one by one, each second bringing him closer and closer to unconsciousness. He knew that to fall could have devastating consequences for both himself and the king, but he didn't have the strength to fend it off. A monotonous buzzing started in his ears as enormous pressure built behind his eyes until finally he lost his grip and fell into nothingness.

…

Arthur jerked awake with a start; something horrible had pulled him from sleep. He tried to move forward and see what it was, but found that he couldn't budge; heavy chains bound his hands and feet to the wall as they had when he'd first been captured. So the escape plan had failed and Morgana had the upper hand once again, he supposed it would have been too much to ask for her to leave him unrestrained after he'd almost killed her the last time. He tried to remember what it was that had woken him but he couldn't, maybe Merlin would know.

"Merlin." He whispered, peering through the darkness to catch a glimpse of the boy.

When the servant didn't answer immediately Arthur started to get worried. What if Morgana had taken the boy while he'd been unconscious? Where had everything gone wrong anyway? The last thing he could remember was Morgana struggling against him as he squeezed his arm around her throat, so how had he ended up chained to this wall again?

"Merlin!" He called more urgently, staying completely still as he listened for any sound that would let him know that the boy was alright. After a few minutes of silence he started struggling violently against the chains, he had to get to Merlin, make sure Morgana hadn't injured him in any way, or worse, killed him.

"Come on Merlin!" Arthur yelled, "Where are you?" He was starting to panic because anything could have happened, the possibilities were endless, and he didn't think he could bear to lose the boy, not again. How could he ever live with himself if Morgana had hurt Merlin and Arthur wasn't there to save him?

There was a pained groan from the opposite side of the room and Arthur stilled instantly, straining his ears towards the sound. "Merlin?" he asked cautiously, fear coloring his tone, because the boy didn't sound like he was alright and that scared Arthur more than he wanted to admit. Merlin had already been through so much, he didn't deserve any of it and now their last hope of escape had amounted to nothing, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, holding his breath as he pushed himself up off the floor. He propped himself gingerly against the wall, relaxing by degrees against the cool stone; it felt like he'd fallen out of a huge tree and hit every branch on the way down. Every inch of his body hurt and he breathed as shallowly a possible but, no matter how cautious he was, pain ripped through him with every inhale.

He waited to answer the king until his breathing was under control, he didn't want Arthur to know how bad he was hurting because the king would probably overreact and forbid Merlin from using his magic entirely. Not that the warlock would listen, but it would be a lot easier to escape if Arthur wasn't resisting every step of the way in a heroic effort to save Merlin from a little, well, if he was honest, a lot of pain. He was glad of the darkness because it masked the pained grimaces that flashed across his pale face every few seconds; the last thing he needed was a concerned Arthur trying to baby him, he was strong, he could deal with a little discomfort if it meant that they were able to escape from Morgana.

"I'm fine." Merlin was finally able to force past his clenched teeth; he tried to sound as normal as possible but was fairly certain that Arthur wouldn't be convinced so he tacked on some more as an afterthought, "You're the one who passed out like a girl and botched our escape."

"What?!" Arthur cried indignantly, Merlin's jibe having the desired effect and distracting him from the fact that the boy was far from fine. "I did not—"

"Well…" Merlin interrupted, forcing a laugh that he immediately regretted and bent almost double, clutching at his ribs as it sent pain sparking through him again, "Mordred might have had a little to do with it."

"I knew that boy was trouble." Arthur growled, furrowing his brow in frustration, "I almost had her, a few more seconds…"

"It might not be too late." Merlin said lightly, "Although Morgana did vow to kill you as soon as you woke up." Overall he was quite pleased with the results of his attempts at magic. It hurt, that was for sure, but as long as he concentrated entirely on the spells he would be able to push the pain out of his mind long enough to save Arthur and that was all he wanted, to save the king.

Arthur chuckled dryly, he appreciated Merlin's optimism but frankly they'd exhausted all their options; as soon as Morgana came back, which would probably be soon, she would kill him. He counted himself lucky to still be alive right now, he'd expected to be dead already and his only regret was that he wouldn't be able to spend more time with his friends, with Gwen. Giving up was not something that he did often, or ever really, but there really wasn't anything else he could do so he resigned himself to the fact that finally, after all these years, Morgana was going to win.

"If I…" Arthur began, then coughed to clear the lump that had risen in his throat, "If I don't make it back to Camelot, promise me you'll take care of Gwen."

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted before abruptly collapsing in a coughing fit that threatened to tear his chest apart, by the time he calmed down his lungs were on fire and he winced as his breath rasped in and out. "You can't… think like that." He panted, "You're not going to die, I promise."

Arthur smiled fondly, this was why he loved the boy, Merlin was always optimistic, even in the face of insurmountable odds. He opened his mouth to respond but before he had a chance to answer, footsteps sounded in the corridor and he pulled himself up to his full height in preparation; he wasn't afraid of Morgana and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. If he was going to die, he was going to go out strong, not begging for mercy. He only hoped that Merlin would be able to find a way to escape on his own.

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**I started writing this chapter planning to at least start the BAMF!Merlin but it kind of ran away with me... hopefully that will be in the next bit! Please review :D**


	20. Frustrations and Failed Assassinations

**First of all, since I haven't done it in a while, THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story, you'll never know how much it means to me.**

**Second, I'm very sorry, fully intended to have this chapter finished and posted yesterday but I spent all of my free time watching Game of Thrones with my brothers (Awesome show, you should watch it if you're not already!)**

**Third, I'm in a weird mood today so forgive the rambling. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

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Morgana threw open the door to the cell and stood on the threshold for a moment before entering the room, never one to pass up on an opportunity for dramatics, she snapped her fingers above her head and three small balls of light appeared, casting a sinister red glow over the cell. With a flourish of her wrist she sent them spinning towards the ceiling where they stopped, pulsing softly as they provided just enough light to see by.

Merlin crouched in the corner, ready to act at a moment's notice, but he was slightly wary, Mordred had not entered the room with the witch and he couldn't afford to have his plan fail like Arthur's had. Morgana stalked towards the king with exaggerated slowness and Merlin clambered to his feet, pressing himself flat against the wall, hoping to escape her notice and preserve what little advantage he had, it would greatly increase his chances of success if he could take her by surprise.

If the situation hadn't been so serious he might have rolled his eyes at her display, the way she swung her hips in wide arcs as she sauntered towards her brother, eyes filled with cold malice, was obviously meant to be intimidating but it fell a bit flat given the audience. Arthur was the king of Camelot, he'd ridden out countless times against vicious magical creatures without a second thought; killed thousands upon thousands of men who'd threatened him or the wellbeing of his people, and it was going to take a little more than Morgana's icy glare to scare him.

"I have waited so long for this day." Morgana said almost wistfully as she ran her fingers lightly down the king's arm, raising goosebumps on his tanned skin. "So many times I have entrusted your demise to others but no longer; the years have taught me that I can't rely on anyone other than myself and I will not make that mistake again. This time_ I_ will be the one to kill you, to plunge the knife through your heart and feel your blood spill over onto my hand. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to watch the life leave your eyes until finally you are merely an empty shell to be discarded, yet another obstacle that I have overcome in my quest for the throne."

Arthur didn't move, didn't respond, didn't even blink just stared defiantly into his sister's eyes, refusing to back down or give in. He would not be weak, he would not let his emotion's show, he would be proud until the end.

Morgana drew her knife and Merlin's heart jumped into his throat as he started to move, sliding silently along the wall towards the king, staying just out of the witch's line of sight. Morgana traced her finger lovingly along the blade of the dagger, humming contentedly as she admired the way it reflected the crimson tint of the room, a harbinger to the blood that would soon stain the shining steel.

"Do you remember this blade, Arthur?" Morgana asked, turning the dagger in front of his face, then pulling it away as she continued without waiting for an answer, "You gave it to me for my birthday, it was the best present I've ever received. I've never had use for the scores of mirrors and hairbrushes and jewelry that are deemed proper for lady, but _this_, this has come in handy on so many occasions. Ironic, isn't it? That you will be killed by the very blade you once gave me for the purpose of protecting myself? Well I am protecting myself now, Arthur; protecting myself from _you_, the tyrant who sits on the throne of Camelot, oppressing and persecuting my people without a second thought, the man that would not hesitate to have me killed even though we share the same blood. I once said that you were nothing like Uther but I was wrong, Arthur, I was so wrong, you are everything like him and now I will do what should have been done so many times before, with your death the balance will be restored and magic will return to Camelot; everything will be as it should."

She stopped for a moment, judging Arthur's reaction to her words, then dropped the dagger to her side, gazing into the distance as if contemplating a matter of great importance.

"Well, I suppose you'll want to know what will become of Merlin." She mused, finally returning her attention to the king. She wanted to get a reaction out of him, wanted to dig at his emotions with her claws and hurt him far deeper than any physical wound ever could. She wanted him to understand, to know what it felt like to be betrayed by someone she'd once counted her friend, to be abandoned by those closest to her simply because of a gift she hadn't chosen and couldn't deny. She wanted all those things but was disappointed when the only sign that he'd even heard her words was the slight tightening of his biceps as he pulled almost imperceptibly against the chains.

She guessed she shouldn't have been surprised, Arthur had always hidden his emotions well; Uther, who'd believed that emotion was a weakness and had no place in the royal court, had taught him well. That, coupled with his stubborn streak, pretty much guaranteed that she would never get anything out of him that he didn't want to let out, oh well, it had been worth a try anyway.

"No matter." Morgana said, trying rather unsuccessfully to conceal her frustration at her brother's apathy behind a mask of cool indifference. "Let's get on with it then."

She was tired of her games, if Arthur wasn't going to play along there was no sense in prolonging her revenge. She raised the knife above her head again only to have it wrenched painfully from her hand. She whirled around, eyes blazing to see Merlin looking far too happy for her taste and, flinging her hand forward, she sent him flying across the room with a burst of raw power. Smirking in satisfaction she watched as he hit the wall heavily and slumped to the floor, dazed.

She pulled another blade from her boot, slightly disappointed that she'd lost the opportunity for the poetic justice of running Arthur through with the one he'd given her, but she couldn't afford to wait any longer. She was getting impatient, anxious that something would go wrong, and she needed to kill him now, before her plan had a chance to unravel any more than it already had.

"Stop!" Merlin said, staggering to his feet as Morgana raised the second blade above her head. He was swaying dangerously and he leaned against the wall for support but his voice cut through the silence with an air of authority that rivaled Arthur at his best.

Slightly startled by the intrusion, Morgana turned, raising an exasperated eyebrow at the boy, "Why should I?"

"If you stop now, I might decide to let you live." Merlin growled, infusing his voice with a determination that belied the truth behind his words, it was not an idle threat.

Morgana stared at him for a minute, cocking her head to the side inquisitively, as if judging whether he would carry out the threat or not, then she started to chuckle. It started soft and grew, crescendoing into a full-throated laugh that filled the room with noise and echoed off the stone walls. "And what are _you_ going to do about it _Mer_lin? Have you forgotten, you're under my control, you can't stop me no matter how much you want to."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you." Merlin warned, taking a wobbly step forward, hand still braced against the wall for support.

Morgana's amusement faded, replaced by a rage that burned through her veins at the boy's defiance. She would put him in his place, no one got away with speaking to her in such a manner, especially a mere servant. She would soon be the queen of Camelot and she deserved some respect. "You will learn to respect me Merlin, now kneel before your queen." She commanded.

Almost before he knew what was happening, Merlin's knees slammed painfully against the stone floor and a satisfied smirk crept across Morgana's face, transforming her beauty into cruel arrogance. The direct order had taken him by surprise but, if he focused, he should be able to throw her off; her magic wasn't nearly as strong as his.

"You see Merlin, " she sneered, "you are powerless against me."

"No." He said, grunting as he straightened his legs, drawing himself to his full height before her, "I'm not."

"Then you are of no further use to me." She replied dismissively, struggling to hide her alarm at the ease with which he'd been able to escape her control. She didn't know how he'd managed it but she was very concerned at what it would mean for her plans. Her heart was pounding with a sense of urgency and she didn't have time to waste, she needed to get rid of Merlin now, Arthur could wait. Reaching out with her mind, she called Mordred to the room, then flung the dagger in her hand at the boy, steadying her aim with magic.

Merlin saw the blade hurtling towards him and reacted instinctively, throwing his hand out just in time to reverse it and send it flying back in Morgana's direction, he focused all his energy on the dagger, refusing to acknowledge the pain. This was it, this was his one chance, his _only_ chance and he needed to take full advantage of it.

Morgana screamed in fury, watching her plan crumble around her ears as Merlin used magic, seemingly with no adverse affects. Not only had her binding spell failed to contain the warlock, but now the cuffs had as well. She'd been assured that no one, not even Emrys would be able to circumvent the curse in the bracelets but that information had apparently been false. Deflecting the knife, Morgana sent it spinning towards Arthur, watching Merlin closely to see what he would do.

The warlock reacted immediately, conjuring a sparkling blue shield around the king that sent the dagger clattering uselessly to the floor. Morgana recognized her advantage and pressed it to the full in her next few attacks; Merlin had to worry about protecting both Arthur and himself, so Morgana used that to distract him, alternately attacking the shield around her brother and sending offensive spells in Merlin's direction.

She could tell the boy was tiring so she increased the speed of her attacks, raining wave after wave of magic on the warlock. Within a few minutes Merlin was panting heavily, torso shiny with sweat. He let his guard down for a single moment when one of his knees gave out, causing him to stumble back against the wall, and that was when Morgana struck, releasing a ball of purple fire that grazed Merlin's left shoulder as he tried to dodge it.

His hand went instinctively to the wound and Morgana grinned, she had him now, there was no way the boy could keep this up; judging from the way his body was trembling, struggling to remain upright, using magic was taking quite a toll on him and it wouldn't be long before he was forced to give up. She closed in on the boy, reaching forward to finish him off but before she could touch him she was thrown back, blown across the room by the force of Merlin's magic.

…

Merlin could feel himself getting tired but he forced himself to keep going, he couldn't give in to his exhaustion until Arthur was safe. The pain was… manageable, at the moment, but it was rapidly taking over all attempts at rational thought. He needed to finish this quickly or he feared his body would betray him before he got the chance.

His fears were realized when his knee gave out, almost without warning, sending him reeling into the wall. Morgana didn't hesitate to press her advantage and lash out at him in his weakened state; he barely managed to avoid the deadly spell that she aimed straight at his chest. As it was the flaming ball brushed his shoulder, nearly breaking his fragile concentration, which would have been far more devastating than the injury itself.

A quick glance revealed that the spell had completely charred the skin on his shoulder, but he resolutely ignored the pain, denying it the chance to even register in his mind. Copious amounts of smoke were billowing both from his skin and the sizable crater in the wall behind him, which had borne the brunt of the attack. The part of his mind that was still able to think logically told him that it probably wasn't a good sign that he couldn't move his left arm but he blocked it out. He had to focus on the magic and only the magic, he could worry about everything else later, after they'd escaped.

His protection spell on Arthur was currently the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping his mind off the pain. He knew he needed to hurry, his heart was beating erratically and it was becoming increasingly difficult to draw air into his lungs; his peripheral vision had all but disappeared, tunneling inward until he could only see what was directly in front of him, and even that much was perpetually blurry no matter how many times he blinked.

He was so distracted that he didn't see Morgana coming until she loomed in front of him, barely two feet away. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear the vertigo that was making his world spin drunkenly on its axis, throwing off his balance and making it nearly impossible to focus on the witch. He steadied himself against the wall and cried out wordlessly, eyes glowing as he sent Morgana flying across the room. He didn't bother to see where she landed, just sagged against the wall, clutching at his heart, which was burning painfully in his chest; he needed to do something and soon, he didn't have the stamina to keep fending off Morgana's advances and, if they were to have any chance at an escape he needed to act _now_.

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**I had some trouble with the viewpoints in this chapter, hopefully it wasn't confusing. Please review and let me know how I did, even if you completely hated it I'd love to hear your opinion.**

**Oh yes, there will definitely be some BAMF!Merlin next chapter ;)**


	21. Magic's a B

**Here's the next chapter as promised!**

**I have a thirty page research paper due by next Friday that I haven't started yet so it's entirely plausible that I won't be updating until next weekend but I will do my best to get something up before then.**

**Once again, thanks for all of the wonderful support you've given me, I really appreciate it!**

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Arthur watched, shocked and a little bit in awe as Merlin fought off Morgana, matching her spell for spell, taking everything she sent and turning it to his advantage. He knew it couldn't be easy for the boy, the amount of effort the warlock was using to push his magic past the bracelets was all too obvious in the way his body trembled, sweat pouring off his forehead as he repelled the witch, and that worried the king. Merlin was running himself into the ground and Arthur was scared that the boy wouldn't know when to stop, and wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice himself in an effort to free the king.

Merlin might believe his life to be an acceptable loss but Arthur certainly didn't, he would not leave without the boy, not matter what. He was just beginning to think that they might actually have a chance at escape when Merlin stumbled. His heart leapt into his throat as Morgana adapted immediately, launching a spell that grazed Merlin's shoulder. Arthur struggled furiously against the chains that bound him to the wall but they refused to budge; he hated not being able to help, being forced to watch while Merlin took on the witch alone.

Arthur was conflicted, the boy was obviously in pain but he continued fighting undeterred, and the king didn't know whether to be proud of Merlin's strength or curse him for his utter stupidity. If it had been a knight, Arthur would have praised them for their fortitude, fighting through pain wasn't easy but, in some situations, it was necessary; the only problem was, this was _Mer_lin, Merlin who could barely hold a sword, let alone fight with one, Merlin who had _cried _when Arthur killed the unicorn, although that situation hadn't turned out so well…

Anyway the point was that Merlin wasn't a knight, he shouldn't have had to fight at all, and he had a knack for getting into trouble even in the most ordinary situations. All that to say, Arthur wasn't too keen on the idea of his manservant pushing through the pain, it was bound to end in disaster. Much to the king's surprise, Merlin managed to gain the upper hand in a matter of seconds, sending the witch flying across the room as if she weighed nothing. Relief flooded through him when Morgana's head cracked against the stone and she collapsed bonelessly at the base of the wall.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, Merlin was an all-powerful warlock after all, but for some reason he kept forgetting that. He doubted that he'd ever see the boy as an equal when it came to fighting; perhaps it was the servant's gentle nature, or his thin frame, but something about Merlin stirred Arthur's protective instinct.

He turned his eyes back to his servant, brow furrowing in concern as the boy stumbled unsteadily towards him, Merlin didn't look good, not good at all, but the grim determination on his pale face and the half-smile that graced his mouth gave Arthur hope that Merlin wasn't too far gone, that he would be able to recover from the toll the magic was taking on his body.

With a whispered word, the chains holding the king dissolved, dumping Arthur unceremoniously on the floor of the cell. Before he even had a chance to get his bearings and pick himself up, Merlin was tugging insistently on his arm.

"Come on Arthur," Merlin gasped, desperation bleeding through his tone, "we have to get out of here now!"

Heaving himself to his feet, Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin's waist to support him, and guided the boy out of the room. He tried to ignore the way the boy's pulse fluttered frantically beneath his fingers, breath rattling in his thin chest with each inhale; he couldn't afford to worry about Merlin's health now, they didn't have time, it would have to wait until they made their escape.

He could see the sun shimmering gently behind the enchantment that concealed the entrance to the dungeon and they were only three steps from freedom when Mordred blocked their way, eyes blazing as he conjured a crackling ball of energy between his outstretched hands. Arthur jerked to a stop, shaking Merlin out of the stupor he'd fallen into and glanced around, eyes darting frantically back and forth, looking for something that he could use to fight the druid.

At the sight of Mordred, Merlin's energy seemed to return and he pulled himself up, shoving Arthur the remaining distance to safety. Once the king was through the enchantment, Merlin reinforced Morgana's concealment charm with a shield that would prevent Arthur from entering the dungeon again.

He felt bad about using his magic against Arthur but he couldn't afford to be distracted while he was battling Mordred. It would take intense concentration to beat the druid, something that would be impossible if he had to deal with Arthur's heroics as well. If the king had any sense at all he would leave Merlin behind and head for Camelot while he still had the chance. Undoubtedly, Arthur would insist on remaining in the clearing until Merlin escaped… _if_ he escaped, but at least this way, the king would be safe from any spells that might happen to stray his way. There were some things that were easier to do alone, and this was one of them, Arthur would just have to understand that.

Turning to face Mordred, Merlin raised his hand, ready for anything the druid would send. Mordred smirked, glancing back and forth between Merlin and the place where Arthur's blurred outline could be seen, pounding his fists against Merlin's shield, muffled shouts making their way past the barrier.

"You've made a valiant effort, Emrys." Mordred hissed, letting the energy in his hands dissipate as his mocking voice slithered its way into Merlin's thoughts, "But you can't fend us off forever, sooner or later you will slip and when you do, I'll be waiting. I wonder how long you can hold that shield before it starts to fade? If you yield now and swear fealty to Morgana, I can promise that she will spare the king his life."

"I'll never yield to you, and I would die before betraying Arthur and Camelot, you know that." Merlin growled, backing up until he hit the wall. His knees were beginning to tremble again and he wasn't going to risk breaking his concentration like before if they gave out.

"Yes," Mordred answered, drawing closer, "I know that, but your life is not the only one at stake. If you insist on resisting I will kill you and your shield will fail, then I will kill your king."

Merlin paused, considering his options, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to defeat Mordred, but he wasn't convinced that the situation was hopeless either. If he continued to fight, there was a very real possibility that he would lose, his shield would fail, and Arthur would once again be at Morgana's mercy; the only difference would be that Merlin would no longer be there to protect him.

The other option was to surrender now and secure Arthur's life, he could make Morgana swear in the ancient language that no harm would come to the king, but at the same time, he would be bound to Morgana by blood, in a way that would be impossible to escape. The king would live, but Camelot would fall along with all his friends; Arthur would never forgive him if he sided with Morgana for any reason.

Protecting Arthur was his primary goal but, despite his destiny, he felt that he had a responsibility to the people of Camelot as well, to protect them from those that would do them harm. He could never knowingly consign innocent people to Morgana's rule, even if it meant that Arthur was sure to live. Instead of answering Mordred, Merlin steeled his resolve, conjuring a dragon out of fire that swooped towards the druid, mouth gaping hungrily.

"Your choice." Mordred shrugged, amusement playing around the corners of his mouth as he drew water out of the ground and flung it at Merlin's dragon.

The dragon turned to ash as soon as it came into contact with the water and, as it fell to the ground, Merlin manipulated it into a pitch-black serpent that coiled threateningly at Mordred's feet. Unfazed, Mordred flicked his wrist and the snake twisted through the air, striking the wall and falling motionless to the ground.

The stared at each other for a moment, each one assessing the strength of the other as Merlin's heavy breathing filled the air between them, then, without any warning, Mordred extended his hands, palms out, pushing a raging wall of fire towards Merlin. The warlock reacted by conjuring a wind that whipped through the corridor, guttering the flames with ease.

By the time the flames had sputtered out, the breeze had turned into a whirlwind that swept crazily around the small space, tearing at Mordred's clothes and filling the air with dust. Coughing, Mordred stumbled back in the face of the onslaught; he covered his mouth and nose with his arm as he squinted, trying to make out Merlin's form in the chaos. Suddenly, out of the dust, came crackling bolts of energy that Mordred, even with all his power, was hard-pressed to repel.

…

Morgana groaned and sat up, she had a splitting headache and there was something warm dripping down the back of her neck. Gingerly exploring her scalp, she found a large knot on her temple and her fingers came away sticky with blood. For a minute she couldn't remember what had happened, then voices drifted in from the hallway and it all came back.

"Merlin." She growled, pushing herself to her feet. She was forced to pause as the room spun dizzily, but she recovered soon enough and made her way towards the shouts.

Just as she rounded the corner, Merlin thrust his arm out, sending crackling bolts of blue energy into a swirling cloud of dust. The air cleared for a minute and Morgana caught sight of Mordred retreating in the face of Merlin's fury. Striding forward, she raised a ring of fire around the warlock, who stopped attacking Mordred and concentrated on putting out the flames instead. Morgana motioned for the shaken Mordred to join her and the two advanced on Merlin, backing him into a corner.

"This is your last chance Merlin," Morgana said, looking down her nose at the boy who truly looked like death warmed over. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat and he was breathing carefully, as if every inhale caused him unimaginable pain. His unnatural pallor made the dark circles under his eyes stand out in even greater relief and every few seconds a tremor would run through his thin frame. He seemed so fragile that, for a moment, she almost regretted what she'd done but then she remembered his betrayal and her face hardened again. "I will not make another offer, join me now and I will spare your king, refuse and you shall both perish."

"I'll never join you!" Merlin hissed, voice full of venom, "I'd rather die!"

"That can be arranged." Morgana replied, turning to Mordred and taking his hand in her own. Together they created a glowing green orb that intensified in color, mesmerizing Merlin, drawing him in with its ethereal beauty.

It was only when beams of light began bursting from the ball, burning holes through the stone around him, that Merlin was able to tear his gaze away and defend himself. Reaching high above his head, he began chanting, weaving the thin golden strands that burst from his fingers into a gleaming web that dissolved the beams of green light wherever they touched.

Merlin could feel himself getting weaker; his vision was starting to fade in and out, heart flopping painfully in his chest like a fish out of water. He could see Morgana's lips moving but the buzzing in his ears drowned out her words. His eyes rolled up in his head and he felt himself starting to slip into unconsciousness, sliding over the edge into the oblivion and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

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**So tell me what you think... how did you like my BAMF!Merlin? **

**Sorry about the cliffhanger, they just happen. In case anyone is getting frustrated, they will be escaping next chapter.**


	22. Things Fall Apart

**Thank you for being patient, I swore off fanfiction for almost an entire week (with a few exceptions) in order to write my research paper but now I'm back and I sincerely hope this chapter was worth the wait!**

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Arthur was absolutely furious, Merlin had no right to do this, no right to push him out and take on Mordred alone. He wanted to do something to help, but that was impossible because Merlin had abused his power, using it to do the only thing that the king had expressly forbidden him to do, sacrifice himself.

After he'd stumbled out into the sunlit clearing, Arthur had immediately turned around and tried to reenter the dungeon, only to find the way blocked by some kind of invisible force. He'd spent several pointless minutes unleashing his fury on the barrier, growing increasingly more worried and frantic at the sounds of a struggle escaping the seemingly solid wall of stone before him.

When he heard the unmistakable lilting tones of his sister's voice he sprung into action. Merlin had barely been able to support himself when they'd left the cell and, no matter how powerful he was, his chance of escaping alive if Mordred and Morgana teamed up against him would be next to none.

Arthur didn't care what it took; he would do everything in his power and more to get to Merlin while the boy still lived. He might not be able to get through the barrier but there had to be at least some way to turn the situation inside in the boy's favor, he certainly wasn't going to sit here and wait for Morgana to come out and kill him.

He sprinted towards the edge of the clearing, praying to everything he knew that his horse would still be were he'd left it, there was no way of knowing how long they'd been in the dungeon but if the horse was gone, so was his only feasible plan of attack. When he reached the grove where he had tied his horse his heart sank, the rope that had tethered the animal to a nearby tree was trailing the ground, frayed ends blowing in the gentle breeze.

Sinking to the ground, Arthur examined the tracks, then, putting two fingers in his mouth, whistled long and clear into the woods. He cocked his head to the side to listen for any signs of movement and, after a short pause; he heard something crashing through the underbrush. A relieved grin spread across his face as his horse came into view and he jogged over to her, catching the reins in one hand and leading her to a tree before searching his pack, which was secured behind the saddle.

He'd never been more grateful for the paranoia that made him pack three times as many weapons as he needed; Merlin never failed to complain about the extra weight but this was why he did it. If they were caught in a situation where his primary weapon was lost then he wouldn't be defenseless. He dug around for a minute before unearthing three throwing knives; he couldn't find the fourth, but he immediately tucked the ones he had into his boots. Next to appear was his crossbow and several arrows, which were usable if a little worse for the wear. Finally he pulled his spare sword from its sheath by the stirrup, of all the weapons it would likely be the most useful.

Sufficiently armed, he sprinted back to the clearing, afraid that he'd taken too much time already. Morgana and Mordred were certainly going to be surprised when they saw what he'd been able to gather, if he could get inside, that is. He set his crossbow to the side and leveled his sword, running at the barrier with all his strength; if this didn't get him through, nothing would. When the tip of his sword hit the shield it slid through smoothly, momentum carrying him forward until the blade was hilt-deep in the stone.

"It wor—" He started to shout, then cut off abruptly as his knuckles hit the stone, splitting open on impact. Cursing under his breath, he cradled his injured hand and stared at the wall in confusion; the sword had gone through, he'd seen it, so why hadn't _he _been able to go through? Drawing one of his daggers, he repeated the motion; again the steel pierced the shield with ease, only coming to a halt when his skin touched the barrier.

Grinning in triumph, he ran back to where he'd abandoned his crossbow on the grass; apparently Merlin's shield was only designed to keep _him_ out, Arthur could only guess at what the enchantment did but he knew for sure that physical weapons would pierce the barrier and he intended to use that to his advantage.

Reaching the wall, he pressed his ear to the stone, listening to the muffled sounds from within; he couldn't make out the words but he heard enough to help him judge the approximate locations of the people in the room. It looked like all those days he'd trained with a blindfold would really come in handy now.

He took a breath and held it until his lungs started to burn; so many things could go wrong, he could miss entirely and alert Morgana to his presence, or worse, he could accidentally hit Merlin. Shaking his head, he cleared those thoughts from his mind, he couldn't afford to think like that, Merlin needed his help and because of the boy's stupid heroic desire to sacrifice himself this was the only thing Arthur could do to give it.

Breathing deeply, he pressed his ear to the rock again, the voices hadn't moved so he closed his eyes, stepping away from the barrier as he readied his bow. After another fortifying breath he released the bolt, eyes flying open as he waited to see what would happen and if his plan would work.

…

Merlin was fighting a losing battle; he knew that as soon as he slipped into unconsciousness all would be lost, his shield would flicker out, leaving Arthur vulnerable to Morgana and himself defenseless. By the time he woke up, if he woke up at all, the king would be dead and Merlin would no doubt be under another of Morgana's spells. He knew all this and he knew that he needed to stay conscious, the future of Albion depended on it, but it was one thing to know what he needed to do and quite another to actually do it.

He was clinging to his magic, clinging to the conscious world as if his life depended on it, which, now that he thought about it, it did. And so it was that as Merlin lay on the floor, half slumped against the wall, eyes dulled with pain and nearly closed in exhaustion, a flash of silver caught his eye. At first he though it was a trick of the light, merely his overloaded senses playing tricks on him, but a few seconds later it came again.

Intrigued, Merlin clawed his way back to consciousness and pushed himself up a little further, forcing the heavy lids of his eyes to open as far as possible, which only ended up being halfway but it was better than nothing. Before he had time to do anything else he heard a characteristic whoosh, followed by a grunt of pain. Sluggish gaze roving the room, he squinted, trying to focus on Mordred who had fallen to his knees and was staring in shock at the arrow embedded in his shoulder.

Morgana paused in her incantation to look at the druid and let out an enraged hiss when she saw the wound. Taking advantage of the distraction, Merlin raised a trembling arm and reached deep inside himself to the very core of his magic, tapping into the raw power that pulsed there. The roar started low in his throat and crescendoed, gaining volume and momentum as the magic rolled through him like a tidal wave, washing away every thought, every feeling, every sensation but the energy buzzing through his veins, warming his blood and tinting the room a hazy gold color.

Morgana turned in horror, realizing her mistake, but it was too late. The magic burst from Merlin's outstretched palm with a brilliance that instantly rendered all three of them momentarily sightless. Still roaring, letting out all the pent up pain, and hurt, and anger he'd felt in the past few weeks, Merlin directed his power towards Morgana's poisonous green orb that hung close to the ceiling, where she'd left it.

As soon as the beam of golden light hit it, the orb began to boil; surface bubbling under Merlin's attack, and it grew, increasing in size until it was nearly as wide as the corridor. Merlin grimaced, pushing the magic out faster and with more force, fighting the orb with everything he had left.

Suddenly, it gave way, exploding outward with enough power to knock both Morgana and Mordred off their feet; it would have knocked Merlin over as well had he not already been seated. When the ringing in his ears died down, Merlin heard someone screaming and, turning his head, he realized that it was Morgana.

Mordred lay unmoving in the corner, head lying at an awkward angle to his body and Morgana knelt beside him, covered in her own blood. He didn't know what had happened to her or how she was even still alive with the copious amounts of blood that stained her clothes and skin, pooling on the floor around her.

Looking down, he figured it must have had something to do with the explosion because his chest was covered in blood as well and, if his eyes weren't deceiving him, it looked like one side was completely caved in. Everything went silent for a minute and it wasn't until his vision started blurring at the edges that he realized he'd forgotten to breath. He tried to inhale but couldn't, it felt like something heavy was sitting on his chest and he just couldn't get it to move up and down like he needed it to.

Rather than panicking at his inability to draw oxygen into his lungs he felt a detached sort of frustration. An annoyance, if you will, that his body was refusing to cooperate with him. Luminous sparks of color started to dance their way into his vision, distracting him from his irritation. He was mesmerized by their beauty as they painted the decidedly grim chamber with streaks of pink and green and purple; turning the sterile grey wall into a masterpiece.

The effect was ruined when a giant crack appeared in the wall and his world started to collapse, falling apart piece by piece. At first he thought it was because he was losing consciousness but after a menacing groan echoed through the chamber and a concerning rift split the ceiling overhead, he realized that it wasn't his imagination. Large chunks of the rock started falling, slowly at first, then with a startling speed, smashing apart when they hit the floor.

He tried to laugh at the irony of it all but his lungs still weren't working properly, something that his mind kept telling him should have been extremely important but he just couldn't bring himself to care much about. He had finally defeated Morgana and Mordred after so many years of failing to do so and now it seemed that his role in Arthur's destiny was complete. He would be buried here with them forever, never to see Arthur or his friends again, destined to never see the age of prosperity that he'd been so instrumental in bringing about.

Finally able to force his body to draw in the tiniest amount of air, Merlin realized the severity of his predicament and started gasping out a spell that would, with any luck, protect him from the worst of the collapse but, before he got even halfway through it, a large piece of stone hit him on the head and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

…

After Arthur shot the arrow, he pressed his ear against the stone again, waiting for a reaction to tell him if he'd hit his intended target or not. A few moments later he heard a grunt, followed by Morgana's hiss of frustration. He'd hit Mordred then, which was good; the seconds ticked by in silence with no further sounds from the dungeon and he started to get worried, why wasn't Merlin doing anything?

Then, before he could process what was happening, a light burst through the enchantment and Arthur stumbled back in shock, covering his eyes against the brilliance, unsure of what he should do. It turned out that he didn't need to do anything because, a short while later, an explosion ripped through the clearing, knocking Arthur flat on his back.

As soon as he regained his bearings, Arthur sprinted towards the entrance, desperate to see what was happening inside the dungeon, but the shield still blocked his way. There was an ominous groan and suddenly the entire face of the cliff started collapsing, melting to the ground in front of the king's eyes.

"NO!" Arthur yelled, trying to get to Merlin but unable to stand closer than twenty paces from the entrance without getting hit by falling rock. "MERLIN!"

Arthur sank to his knees, tears coursing down his cheeks and dripping off the end of his nose as horror and grief overwhelmed him. He sat there, unable to move as his entire world, all his hopes and dreams, past, present, and future, were buried under tons of rock along with his best friend. There was no way anyone, even Merlin, could survive something like that and, in that moment, Arthur realized that the boy was far more important to him than anything else in his life. He couldn't imagine a world without his faithful servant and, in fact, didn't want to go on living if this terrible numbing emptiness was all he had to look forward to without the boy.

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**And once again Merlin is left hovering in the balance between life and death. I'll take this opportunity to remind you that this is not a deathfic, if it was there would be warnings posted. So please review and I'll try to have the next part up as soon as possible.**


	23. Only this, and nothing more

**The only excuse I have for this is that I was alone in my apartment this weekend and feeling a bit lonely. The result? Some ****_extremely _****heavy Arthur angst, morbid description, and very little plot development. Hopefully you'll enjoy (maybe that's not the right word?), I'm definitely planning to put more substance in the next chapter so bear with me.**

**The title for this chapter is a line from Edgar Allen Poe's poem, "The Raven". I'm not sure it really has anything to do with the actual chapter besides being dark and twisted but it stuck with me so the application is open to interpretation, it can mean whatever you want it to.**

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By the time the dust settled, Arthur had managed to reign in his feelings enough that he was no longer sobbing like a baby but that's not to say he was any closer to accepting the situation. He may have looked calm on the outside but inside his thoughts were racing a million miles a minute; searching desperately for a way to deny what he'd just seen, to refute the knowledge that was pounding at his head with an intense urgency that he was doing his best to ignore.

He felt like someone had kicked him in the chest, driving all the air from his lungs and leaving an empty ache that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he tried to fill it. He couldn't, wouldn't, acknowledge that Merlin, his servant, companion, friend, _brother_, was dea—no he wouldn't say it, if he didn't say it, it might not be true. He could just sit here, in this tiny clearing that seemed unaffected by the passage of time, forever; if he didn't get up, didn't move, didn't breathe, then maybe things would go back to how they had been before, how they were supposed to be.

The plan worked, at least for a while, but eventually Arthur, who was a warrior, a man of action above all else, couldn't stay still any longer. Climbing to his feet he stumbled on legs, which had long since fallen asleep, to the pile of rubble on the opposite side of the clearing; the rocks were strewn about haphazardly, looking for all the world like a giant travesty of a child's scattered blocks. The craggy cliff that had once towered above his head, now barely rose to eye-level, majestic face reduced to a smoking pile of debris.

There was an eerie silence over the forest, as if even the animals were mourning the loss of the warlock that Arthur felt so keenly. The quiet was broken only by the occasional rattle of stone on stone as a rock broke loose of the pile and tumbled down the side to land in the grass below. When this happened, a small shower of gravel and dust would rain down on the impassive king, momentarily breaking his train of thought and causing his eyes to flick upwards before returning to stare unseeingly at the rock in front of him.

His normally vibrant blue eyes were vacant, completely cold and void of any emotion whatsoever. They were guarded, as if he'd erected a shield between himself and the rest of the world to block out reality. He knew that as soon as he lowered that shield, even a fraction of an inch, he would fall to pieces, shatter like so many shards of glass and, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to put himself together again. Extending a trembling hand, he reached out and brushed the rock with the tips of his fingers; tears flooding his bloodshot eyes and quivering on his lashes. He bit back a sob, then pulled himself to his full height, straightening his back with a strength that defied his sorrow as pure determination seeped from every pore.

It might be too late for him to save Merlin, but the least he could do was bring the boy's body back to Camelot and give him a proper burial; Merlin deserved far more than that and Arthur certainly wasn't going to leave him here to rot with Mordred and Morgana. Dashing angrily at the tears that begun to escape his eyelids, leaving shining trails as they chased each other down his cheeks, Arthur grabbed an outcropping and started to climb, almost falling back to the ground as a precariously positioned stone shifted under his feet.

Not to be deterred, he recovered quickly and, within seconds, had crested the top of the pile. He stood, staring around forlornly as he tried to determine where he should start looking for the boy. A pale, bloodstained hand caught his eye and he ran towards it, spending several frantic minutes clearing the rocks from around the limp form before he realized that it was Morgana.

His sister's sightless eyes gazed up at him, horror and shock forever frozen on her face, the terror of her last moments etched across her ashen features as if they were made of stone. He allowed himself a moment of sorrow and remorse at her death, in memory of the girl he'd once known, before passing a hand over her face and gently closing her eyes for the last time. Clearing his throat, he stood, turning his back on his sister; she had made her choice long ago, when she'd betrayed them all and stolen the throne of Camelot right out from under him, vowing never to rest in her quest to destroy him, even to her last breath.

Shaking his head, he concentrated on the task at hand; if he remembered correctly, Merlin should be close by. He expanded his search, digging in an ever-widening circle around Morgana, but it was slow going. The rocks were heavy and he was weighed down by his grief and despair; his eyes were burning with the effort of holding back tears and he was fighting the growing desire to give up, to curl into a ball and block out the rest of the world, content to stay there until he starved to death.

His heart leapt into his throat, racing in nervous anticipation and dread, when, close to half an hour later, he uncovered a colored scrap of material; but further investigation only lead to disappointment when he cleared the last of the rocks to reveal Mordred's lifeless body. Turning away from the druid's vacant stare, Arthur began digging again, single-minded in his determination to find his friend. Nearly an hour later, the king was no closer to finding the boy than he had been when he started and the sun was beginning to set.

Growing increasingly hysterical, Arthur tore at the rocks like a madman, frantic to find his friend before night descended. Just as the last bit of hope drained from the king's body and he sunk to the ground, ready to give up, a warm sensation washed over him, it was so familiar that he froze; terrified to turn around for fear that it was his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. When a soft blue glow lit the clearing however, Arthur could no longer hold back the fragile hope that was leaking into his chest, filling the emptiness with solid, reassuring optimism.

"Merlin." He whispered reverently, holding his breath as he turned with more caution than he had ever exercised in his life, afraid that if he moved too quickly, the light would disappear and he would be back where he'd started.

He crossed the pile and fell to his knees, barely noticing the way the sharp angles of the stone cut into his bruised appendages, laughing maniacally with relief and pure joy as he caught sight of the iridescent blue film that was visible through the gaps in the rock. Merlin was alive, he had to be, Arthur would know that light anywhere. Even after all these years, he had never forgotten the mysterious ball of light that had guided him to safety that night in the cave, allowing him to retrieve the flower that had saved Merlin's life.

It seemed obvious now that the conjuror had been Merlin, although he had to admit, he had no idea how the boy had managed to do it while he'd been so far away and so close to death himself. He guessed Merlin truly was the most powerful warlock in the world, as Morgana had said, and he'd never been more grateful of that fact than he was right now.

A few short weeks ago, he would have argued the evils of sorcery until he was blue in the face but now… now everything was different and he was just glad that Merlin was alive. Jolting himself out of his thoughts he got to work, carefully clearing the rubble from around the boy. It wouldn't do to kill him with carelessness now that his salvation was so close at hand.

Finally, after several failed attempts, Arthur was able to force his protesting muscles into submission as he heaved the last big boulder off of Merlin. As soon as the last of the rock was gone, the light faded, flickering out into nothing and Arthur's breath caught in his throat as icy tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around his heart and climbed higher, paralyzing his lungs.

Merlin looked so pale and still and _broken_ that all at once the hope that had filled Arthur rushed out as quickly as it had come, leaving him breathless and on the verge of tears once again. The moon was rising and it outlined Merlin in a silver glow, heightening the contrast between his pallid face and raven hair. His bloodless lips were pressed into a thin line, thick lashes resting gently against his sharp cheekbones. Merlin had always been thin but now he was positively gaunt, every bone standing in stark relief beneath the paper-thin skin that seemed to be stretched much too tightly across his skeletal frame.

For the first time since he'd been imprisoned, Arthur was able to properly assess Merlin's state. Much of their time in the cell it had been too dark, or he'd been too distracted to fully take in the boy's appearance but now everything Merlin had endured was painfully obvious. Anger coiled deep in his gut as his eyes were drawn to the raised scar along Merlin's cheek and, had she not already been dead, Arthur would have murdered his sister for causing the boy so much pain.

Merlin looked so young and innocent lying there that the king couldn't even wrap his mind around why anyone would want to hurt the boy. It occurred to him that he didn't even know how old Merlin was, to look at him now he didn't appear to be a day over seventeen and yet, Arthur thought he was probably closer to twenty, but he couldn't be sure. After all those years, spending an upwards of twelve hours a day with his servant, he'd never even bothered to ask his age, or his favorite food, or… anything, really. No wonder Merlin called him a prat; here he was, claiming that the boy was his best friend in all the world and he didn't even know the most basic information about him. What kind of friend, what kind of _person_ was he?

Continuing his assessment, his brow furrowed in concern at the substantial amount of blood staining the boy's skin, long since dried and now beginning to crack in the cool night air. Even under the layer of dirt and grime, Arthur could see the scars that slashed across the boy's chest, interrupting the smooth skin around his ribs and stomach and he winced in sympathy at the amount of pain they must have caused. At first Arthur thought there was a shadow across the right side of Merlin's chest but soon began to panic as he realized that it had collapsed entirely. Ribs crushed, he could only guess, by one of the many rocks that had rained down on the boy in his nearly helpless state.

Heart pounding so hard that he feared it would burst, Arthur jumped down into the hole he'd created and crouched beside his friend, trying to decide on the best course of action. He gripped the boy's bony wrist between his fingers, feeling for a pulse but, after several agonizing seconds, failed to find one.

Breath coming in harsh, terrified gasps he pressed his ear to Merlin's chest, listening for a heartbeat, a breath, anything to let him know that the boy was alive. After another few fruitless seconds he pulled away, cursing the blood pounding heavily in his ears for his inability to hear, and drew his dagger. Steadying his violently trembling hand on his equally shaky knee, he held the blade under the boy's nose, muttering uncontrollably as he waited, hoped, prayed for the boy to breath.

After an interminable span of what seemed like a million years, the slightest bit of fog appeared on the blade of the dagger and Arthur collapsed against the wall in relief, Merlin was alive. Merlin was _alive_! After allowing himself a few minutes to absorb the fact that the warlock was miraculously, unbelievably still breathing, Arthur started to worry in earnest. What was he going to do? Merlin was far too fragile to be moved and yet, if they stayed here the boy would surely die, he needed help, and he needed it now.

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**Thanks for reading, I'll love you even more than I already do if you leave me a review! ;D**


	24. Search Party

**This chapter has some Gwen and Gwaine, no Arthur or Merlin but they'll be back next time. Hope you like it!**

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Gwen waited exactly five days after Arthur left before she couldn't stand it any longer. Five long days spent on the battlements, watching, praying, hoping for her husband to return. Five days of straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of his shining golden hair in the distance. Five days of feeling her heart sink lower and lower in her chest, for that roaring fire of hope that had taken hold to shrink back to the tiniest spark, barely able to fend off the darkness that threatened to overwhelm it. Five days before her patience disappeared.

She did not sleep, not at all, because as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind was filled with terrible images that she hoped never to have to see in reality. As soon as she let her guard down they flooded to the front of her mind, the darkness giving life to all the worries and fears that plagued her every time Arthur left but, if possible, this time was far worse than usual. She didn't know what it was about this particular trip but she had an awful feeling, almost like a premonition, that something terrible was going to happen to him.

There was a cold pit of dread and despair that had settled deep in her stomach and, no matter how often she tried to ignore it, it kept rearing its ugly little head, clawing at her insides until she felt that nothing would ever be right with the world again. She was always on the verge of tears and there was a perpetual lump in her throat that didn't go away, not even when she swallowed. Her brow stayed unconsciously furrowed, a physical representation of the paralyzing anxiety that raced through her veins every time she thought about the situation.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, Gwen was on her way to the council chambers, striding purposefully through the corridors, back straight, eyes fixed directly ahead, refusing to let any weakness show in her comportment. When she reached her destination she paused, allowing the mask to fall away for a few seconds before squaring her shoulders and throwing open the doors.

The council, who had been waiting for her arrival, jumped at the sound of the doors crashing against the walls and scrambled to their feet in deference as she strode into the room, looking every inch the queen she had become since marrying Arthur. She had gotten considerably better at hiding her emotions since she'd taken the throne beside him and she no longer wore them on her sleeve for everyone to see. There was a certain amount of reservation required of those in power and she had adapted well; now the only indications that she was worried were the slight tightness around her mouth where she pressed her lips together, and the turbulent, uncertain look in her normally eager, open gaze.

"Thank you for coming." Gwen started, making eye contact with each of her husband's advisors to show her appreciation. "I know you are very busy so I'll make this brief. Arthur has been gone for five days; he should have been back by now so I am forced to assume that some trouble has befallen him. Directly after this meeting I will be assembling a group of knights and going out to search for him."

Cries of "Your Highness!" and "Your Majesty!" Filled the room with a cacophony of sound, protestations layering one on top of the other until they all became unintelligible in the din. Holding up her hand, she waited until the room fell silent and opened her mouth to speak again. Before she could make a sound, Sir Jaime, the grey-haired knight that had served as the head of Uther's personal guard before retiring and taking an important place on Arthur's advisory council, began to speak.

"My Lady," he said, concern coloring his tone, "let me go instead, it's not safe for you to leave the city."

"Nonsense." Gwen exclaimed, dismissing his concerns without a second thought, "I'll be fine."

"I really must insist." He said, more forcefully but careful to remain inside the bounds of propriety and respect, "The king charged me with your safety before he left and I cannot, in good faith, allow you to go on such a dangers journey. You can rest assured that the knights of Camelot will not stop until they find your husband but it would do more harm than good for you to accompany them. You are needed here, the people are growing restless and our enemies are not unaware of the king's absence. Please, I beg of you, remain in the city to rule in Arthur's stead and leave the search to the knights."

Gwen, who despite her convictions, prided herself on always being able to listen to reason and detach herself from her emotions in order to fairly judge a situation, deflated slightly, denying the tears that were trying to escape her eyes. She knew that Sir Jaime was right, she would likely do more harm than good on a patrol and, if she departed the city, she would be leaving it even more vulnerable to attack than it already was. The people needed someone to look to, someone to reassure them in this uncertain time while their king was absent and she was the best person to do that. No matter how much she hated waiting in the castle, she couldn't deny the wisdom behind the knight's words.

"I understand Sir Jaime." She replied with a sigh, warring emotions evident in her strained tone, "I will remain in the city for now but you will lead a patrol out immediately, searching to the West of Camelot as far as the border; Sir Leon will lead a second patrol to the East. I will expect daily updates and, if the king has not been found within the week, no amount of supplication will dissuade me from accompanying the patrols in further searches."

"Thank you." Sir Jaime said, bowing low at the waist, "It eases my conscience greatly to know that you will be safe. We shall leave forthwith."

Gwen nodded, watching the old knight leave the room, he might be retired but he still moved with the athletic grace of someone who was well acquainted with their body. He had easily been one of the most valuable members of Arthur's council since Uther's death and Gwen would trust him with her life, she certainly trusted him with Arthur's; he had always supported her decisions in the past but she appreciated the fact that he was not afraid to speak out when her plans would put herself or others in unnecessary danger.

She needed Arthur, Camelot needed Arthur; the people loved and respected Gwen but it was Arthur who held their adoration. He had won them, mind, body, and soul by ruling fairly and with compassion; they were restless without him and Camelot was vulnerable. She was trying to keep her spirits up, if only to reassure the people, but Arthur had been gone too long, she'd barely gotten to see him when he'd come home before and he'd left again after less than a day.

It was killing her to know that anything could have happened to him, he could be anywhere and she had absolutely no way of knowing where to look for him. He might have found Merlin and be on his way home right now but her heart told her otherwise, it was much more likely that he had fallen into enemy hands, been injured, or even, God forbid, killed. She hoped that the patrols would find him, that it wouldn't take another interminable week for him to come home but she was deadly serious in her vow. If he was not home within the week, she would go out and look for him herself, she would not sit by and wait in the castle any longer than that. She couldn't bear it.

…

When the knights had returned to Camelot after three fruitless weeks of scouring the kingdom for Merlin, Gwaine had gone straight to the tavern. He hadn't wanted to accept the fact that they'd failed, they hadn't found Merlin, and probably never would; so he'd sat himself down in the corner and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion, as he'd done so many times before.

The alcohol was his way of coping with the seemingly hopeless situation; it dulled his senses and clouded his memory, providing a much-needed escape from the emotions that were tearing him apart inside. Merlin was his friend, the first and best one he'd ever had, and he didn't know how to deal with the fact that he was gone. The boy had always been there, through everything, and Gwaine didn't know how to live without him.

Before he'd met Merlin, he had wandered from place to place with no real purpose or interest in life other than drink and women. Looking back now, he realized that those had been very shallow desires indeed but he never would have known that if Merlin hadn't shown him otherwise. In a way, the gangly boy had saved him, saved him from a mindless existence, drifting through life in a blurred daze of tavern brawls and physical pleasures.

Gwaine had vowed to himself, before they'd begun their search for the boy, that he would not rest until Merlin had been found but, after so many weeks and nothing to show for it, his resolve had wavered. Apparently he wasn't as strong or dedicated as he'd always supposed, the constant disappointment and growing despair had taken their toll, all but drowning out his desire to continue searching.

He knew without a doubt that, if the tables had been turned and Gwaine had been captured by the witch, Merlin would have spent the rest of his life searching, refusing to rest until the knight had been found, but Gwaine wasn't nearly as selfless or, clearly, as driven as the boy. He couldn't keep putting himself and, more importantly his emotions, through the wringer. The constant ups and downs had become unbearable so he returned to old habits, using the alcohol as a crutch to banish his emotions and dull the ache in his chest for a few blissful hours.

He sat in a dark corner of the tavern, as far away from the revelers as he could get, nursing his mug in brooding silence. Normally he would have joined in the laughter, been the main source of entertainment for the drunken partiers; but tonight they annoyed him, every grin, every high-pitched giggle, pounded at his skull, underscoring his anguish at what he'd lost and bringing tears to his eyes. He glared at the people dancing and cracking jokes because how could they be so happy when such a brilliant light, such a precious friend had disappeared from his life forever?

Instead of drowning out his sorrows, the alcohol was adding to his melancholy mood; so he drank faster, downing more and more of the burning liquid to escape, to forget the sparkling eyes and mischievous grin of his best friend. He drank more that night than he ever had before, draining cup after cup until his body could no longer take it and he started vomiting all over the floor, the table, everything. The barkeep's angry shouts barely registered in his mind as two burly men grabbed him under the arms and tossed him out into the night and Merlin's impish grin never left his mind, not even when the world started fading in and out, finally, mercifully, melting to black.

He woke up three days later with a sour taste in his mouth and a splitting headache that threatened to tear his skull open. He was lying on the patient bed in Gaius' chambers, quite a bit worse for the wear but no closer to reconciling himself with the ever-present pain in his chest, like someone had stabbed him straight through the heart. Every time he saw something that reminded him of Merlin it throbbed, the magnitude of his loss washing over him anew, burying him beneath its crushing weight.

Soon enough Gaius came bustling into the room and, seeing that the knight was awake, filled him in on everything that had happened while he'd been oblivious to the world. When he heard that Arthur had left again, bent on undertaking some sort of quest to rescue Merlin by himself, Gwaine was livid. Why did Arthur, and Arthur alone, get a second chance to search for the boy? He was, if possible, even more furious at himself for giving in to his weakness, if he hadn't been so totally wasted, he might have convinced the king to take him along.

He swore, right then and there, that he would never again turn to alcohol to deal with situations where Merlin was concerned. While it was true that his emotions were painful, it hurt even more to know that the drinking had denied him the opportunity to accompany Arthur on the rescue mission.

It took two days for the room to stop spinning when he stood and the pounding in his head to abate to a dull roar but, as soon as was physically possible he started planning a rescue mission of his own. He was packing his things to head out and continue the search for Merlin when Leon appeared at the entrance to his room, knocking lightly on the doorframe to get his attention.

Apparently the princess had gone and gotten himself lost, or captured and Gwen had ordered a search party. Grabbing his bag, Gwaine left the room at Leon's heels; the only person that might have an idea as to where Merlin was being held was Arthur, so their best bet for finding the boy was to find the king, and Gwaine intended to do exactly that.

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**I'm considering doing a character study on Gwaine's past like I did on Mordred's, would anyone be interested in that?**


	25. The Darkest Hour

**Back to Arthur and Merlin! I blame the angst in this chapter entirely on the fact that a friend recently got me addicted to Sherlock and the season 2 finale was so beautiful and terrible and angsty that I just had to find an outlet for it.**

**To the first Guest who reviewed last chapter: Thank you so much for your comments, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, hopefully this bit will live up to your expectations!**

**Maddie: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, your comments were lovely and definitely left me with a smile! :)**

**To the second Guest who reviewed last chapter: I will be doing a character study on Gwaine, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and am very grateful for the review!**

**Remember, the darkest hour is just before the dawn... enjoy! ;D**

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Arthur sat by his servant's side all night, gripping the warlock's limp hand tightly between his own, as if the physical contact alone would be enough to keep the boy in the land of the living. He stared fixedly at Merlin's chest, afraid to move, afraid to breath, afraid to blink. Terrified that if he looked away, even for a few seconds, the miniscule rise and fall would cease and his friend would slip away without so much as a goodbye.

He couldn't remember ever being so scared about anything in his life. All the blood had drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale, and he could feel his heart thundering in his chest as the blood pounded through his ears. His senses were heightened and his hands trembled with the need to _do_ something, but he couldn't; he couldn't do anything, and that was the worst part.

There was absolutely nothing he could do but sit there, willing the boy to fight, to live, even as he watched the life drain out of his thin frame. He clutched Merlin's hand close to his chest in a frantic attempt to warm the boy's cold skin; calloused fingers, searching desperately for a pulse, clamped around the fragile wrist so hard that he feared he would break it.

Leaving Merlin to go get help was not even an option; the very thought of being further than arms length away from the boy sent ice-cold tendrils of pure, unadulterated fear racing through his body. But neither could he bring himself to move his servant, to shift the delicate balance that they were hovering in. Everything felt surreal, like they were cut off from the rest of the world, encased in a giant bubble, and he convinced himself that everything would be fine as long as nothing changed.

The passage of time had no effect on the king as he sat beside his friend, body paralyzed with fear, mind racing with worries, concerns, fragile hopes, and half-made plans that were discarded almost as soon as they formed. He fell into a sort of daze, subconsciously marking the sluggish beats of Merlin's heart as they thumped beneath his fingers; holding his breath after each shaky exhale, silently counting the seconds until the harsh rattle of they boy's inhale filled the air again and he relaxed in relief.

This continued for several hours, the monotonous pattern of exhale… pause… inhale repeated over and over, lulling Arthur into a false sense of security. He built walls around his heart, reassuring himself that everything would be alright, Merlin wouldn't die, _couldn't_ die, because he never died, he was always fine. No matter how many times he'd been on the brink of death, the boy had always managed to pull through in the past, why should this time be any different? Someone would find them, someone would help them, and all they had to do was hold on until that help came.

Everything was going well, or at least as well as could be expected in a situation like this, and if Merlin's skin seemed to be taking on a decidedly grayish hue, or his breaths were getting weaker, the silence between each inhale stretching longer and longer, Arthur ignored it, unwilling to accept the fact that Merlin was dying; that, in all likelihood, the boy wouldn't survive the night. He couldn't acknowledge, even to himself, that his friend was fading, and fading fast, because to give voice to his doubts would be to admit failure and he couldn't afford to do that. He was completely drained, exhausted both physically and emotionally, there was nothing left. He felt so empty, as if he'd cried all the tears he had left to cry and now he was just numb, incapable of feeling anything.

That idea was proved wrong almost as soon as it was formed, it turned out that Arthur _was_ still capable of feeling, that fear was still able to penetrate the numbness that encased his body. Like so many things in life, everything was fine, until, all at once, it wasn't. All it took to obliterate his sense of safety, to smash the walls he'd erected to smithereens, was silence; the horrible, awful, oppressive silence that descended around him, stealing his breath and pressing against his ears, when Merlin stopped breathing.

He stared at the boy, eyes burning with the need to cry, but no tears came, maybe he really had used them all up. He could feel Merlin's heart slowing down under his fingers, beats stuttering erratically as the battered organ struggled to pump blood through the warlock's body without the oxygen that he so desperately needed. Arthur knew it was only a matter of time, a matter of time until those faltering beats ceased entirely and he wanted to scream, wanted to rage into the night sky at the unfairness of it all but it was all he could do to force his chest to rise and fall, almost as if his lungs had stopped working along with Merlin's.

Arthur tightened his grip on the boy's slim wrist; silently begging, pleading with his friend to breathe, just _breathe_. As he sat there, he was struck by the absolute wrongness of the situation; they'd succeeded, escaped from their captivity, defeating Mordred and Morgana in the process, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Merlin barely clinging to life while Arthur knelt at his side, a complete emotional wreck. They should be celebrating their victory, planning for the future of the kingdom, finally able to breathe easy knowing that their two biggest enemies were no longer a threat. Arthur should _not_ be sitting here watching his friend die, it just wasn't right.

When Arthur could no longer feel Merlin's pulse under his fingers he relaxed his grip, letting the boy's arm flop limply to the ground, it was over. Merlin was dead. After everything they'd been through, all the threats and challenges they'd faced, this is what it had all come down to. All of Morgana's failed assassination attempts and plots to destroy him had culminated in this final act, she wasn't even alive to enjoy it but, finally, after all these years, she had succeeded. He was broken, exactly like she'd wanted, completely lost and destroyed without his friend.

He clambered heavily to his feet, turning to face the rock behind him, glaring at it with all the hatred and rage he wished he could direct at his sister, at Mordred, at himself. Merlin had always been so selfless, taking everything in stride, but he hadn't deserved any of it. Hadn't deserved Morgana's loathing, no matter what he'd done, he hadn't deserved to suffer at her hand the way he had in his last weeks; neither had he deserved the contempt with which Mordred held him, to the best of Arthur's knowledge, Merlin had done everything in his power to save the druid boy and that should have been cause for gratitude, not animosity. But most of all, Merlin hadn't deserved the jibes and half-hearted insults that Arthur had thrown at him day in and day out, it was a wonder the servant had even tolerated the king for this long, let alone sacrificed himself so that Arthur would live.

Something snapped deep inside the king and he clenched his hand into a fist as the pain rushed to the surface, breaking through all the barriers he'd spent his entire life constructing, desperate to separate himself from the emotional weakness that his father had so despised. He threw it with all the force he could muster at the wall of solid stone before him, hearing the bones in his hand snap like twigs on impact and he drew back, staring disinterestedly at the damage, barely able to feel the pain through the whirlwind of guilt, and grief, and loss that was tearing his soul apart.

He wanted to do it again, to keep throwing himself at the wall until he could feel something other than the loss ripping through him but the more rational part of his brain told him to stop before he did any permanent damage. Turning around again, he slid slowly down the rocks, relishing in the feel of the sharp stones grating against his spine hard enough to leave bruises, until he was sitting once more. He curled his knees to his chest in a childish attempt to protect himself from the pain, wanting nothing more than to escape from the nightmare that reality was fast becoming.

He rocked back and forth, burying his head between his raised knees and tried to forget, tried to forget everything, but the memories wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how hard he tried to push it away, an image of Merlin's cheerful grin and sparkling eyes kept rising to the forefront of his thoughts, taunting him with what he could never ever have again.

He was finally able to push his voice past the lump in his throat but only one word made it past the shocked, horrified daze that surrounded him. He called his friend's name in a ragged, broken whisper, barely more than a breath of air, surprising himself with the amount of raw pain and anguish that his tone held. He repeated it over and over again, in time with his rhythmic rocking almost like an incantation, as if he could bring the boy back by voicing his deepest desire.

After a few minutes, Arthur became aware of an almost imperceptible humming, so slight that he wouldn't have noticed it at all if not for the warm, tingling feeling that accompanied it, encasing his broken hand and making its way up his arm. Glancing up sharply, his jaw dropped in disbelief and his breath caught in his throat. Merlin was glowing… _glowing_! Muted golden light was running through his veins, almost like blood, and the longer Arthur watched, the brighter it got.

Tiny strands of light stretched from Merlin's fingertips and wrapped themselves around Arthur's injured hand, clinging to his wrist, almost like the boy was reaching out for him. There were a series of small popping noises and the king looked down in wonder, watching as his mangled fingers straightened, bones aligning themselves before snapping into place like a puzzle. Once the task was finished, the light retreated and Arthur flexed his hand experimentally, it was completely healed; in fact, it was in better condition than it had been before he'd smashed it against the stone in anger.

He stared at Merlin, waiting for the warlock to heal himself, for his crushed ribs to right themselves like Arthur's hand had, but it never happened. The light beneath his skin pulsed faster, in tune with Arthur's racing heart before, finally, Merlin's eyes flew open, blazing with golden light as he gasped in a huge breath, crying out as the movement jarred his damaged ribs.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked tentatively, not wanting to startle the boy or cause him to injure himself further than he already had.

There was no answer, so the king asked again, leaning forward slightly to put himself in his friend's line of sight, but the change in position did no good. The warlock didn't appear to hear him; his luminous eyes remained firmly fixed directly ahead, the light slowly fading as the color changed from gold back to blue.

After a few seconds, Merlin's eyelids slipped closed as he gave in to the darkness and relaxed against the ground again, oblivious to the world. A million questions flooded the king's mind and he grabbed the boy's hand once again, contemplating what he'd just seen. He was curious and he wanted answers but, more than that, he was happy; Merlin's magic obviously wasn't going to let him die without a fight and, although the boy still appeared to be deathly ill, his breathing had evened out and his heart beat steadily, reassuringly, if a little weakly, beneath Arthur's fingers.

The sun finally started to crest the horizon, signaling an end to the longest night of Arthur's life and the emptiness that had filled him retreated, giving way to relief, optimism, and pure joy. Merlin had survived the night and he would live, Arthur was sure of it. Their darkest hour truly had been just before the dawn but now the sun was rising and with it came hope; hope that Merlin would live, that they would be found, and that, someday soon, they would be back in Camelot, two friends walking side by side into the future, ready to take on whatever challenges may arise, together.

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**Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can assure you that it will get better from here, there will still be some angst and hurt/comfort but probably not as much and our boys will be found by someone in the next chapter (although most likely not by who you'd expect)!**

**I'm working on a character study for Gwaine right now, no guarantees on when it will be up though.**


	26. Easier Said Than Done

**This chapter was written fairly quickly and I haven't spent nearly as much time editing it as I usually do but I wanted to get it up before I leave. Please let me know if you find any mistakes or things I need to fix.**

**Thank you so much to the Merlinfan42, Maddie, 3Alaska3, and the three guests that reviewed. Your comments are greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy this next part!**

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The buoyant, elated feeling that had filled the king, rising along with the sun, flagged a little as the hours passed uneventfully with little change in the prone form by his side. He was happy, overjoyed that Merlin had survived the night but now that the sun was high in the sky, worry was beginning to creep back into his mind. He had no way of knowing when they would be found, or if anyone was even looking for them but the one thing he did know was that Merlin wouldn't last long without some serious medical attention.

The boy's pulse remained steady, his breathing marginally stronger than before and yet, despite the coolness of the air and the chill in the breeze, beads of sweat continued to roll down the sides of his face, plastering his dark hair to his head. The flush that rose high in Merlin's cheeks might have been a sign of good health if not for the worrisome blue tinge of his lips and the dark circles that stained the skin under his eyes; the king wasn't stupid, he knew the boy needed help, and soon.

Something else that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore was the perpetual dryness in the back of his throat, the slight headache and dizziness that nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that he wouldn't be of much use either if they didn't get some water soon. It was bad enough for him, but for Merlin it had to be ten times worse. He didn't even have to touch the boy's skin to feel the heat radiating off of it in waves and, after everything the servant had been through, he truly didn't need to add dehydration to the list.

Arthur stood, stretching his protesting muscles as he ran an anxious hand through his hair, weighing the options. Everything in him was screaming that he couldn't leave Merlin, not even for a few minutes but they needed water and needed it badly. He sighed, dropping his hands to his waist as he gazed down at his unconscious friend; Merlin's eyes were roving fretfully beneath his closed lids, the corners of his mouth turned down in a pained grimace even in his current state of blissful unawareness and that made Arthur's mind up for him. He couldn't just sit here watching the boy deteriorate; he needed to do something about it, something to help.

Reaching up to grab the sides of the pit, the king levered himself out of the hole, turning back for one last look at the warlock's broken body before jogging away as quickly as he could. The sooner he was able to accomplish a few things, the sooner he would be back with Merlin, and he didn't plan on spending any more time away than was absolutely necessary.

Arthur darted through the clearing, collecting his weapons from where he'd abandoned them the night before and secured them to his horse before leading her as close to the rubble of the collapsed cliff as he could, tying her to a tree and leaving her to gaze while he went in search of water. He had only brought one water skin and he couldn't afford to be gone for long so he was going to have to find a stream fairly close to the clearing.

He started counting his steps silently in his head, deciding that if he didn't see signs of water within fifty paces he was going back to try another direction. There was no use searching in a broader radius than that, he'd be too far away to hear Merlin if the boy needed help and chances are he'd have to make several return trips, something that would be entirely too inconvenient if the water source was further away.

His first voyage into the woods proved unsuccessful so he returned to the clearing, checking on Merlin briefly before opting to try the other side instead. He was on his thirty-eighth step when the splash of water caught his attention and he sighed in relief, letting out the air that he hadn't been aware he was holding in.

He broke through the low hanging branches that had concealed the small brook, startling several animals and knelt by the stream, drinking deeply to quench his own thirst before filling the skin. He marked his path on the way back, tearing long strips off his shirt and tying them around tree branches every few paces, he might have to find the stream again quickly and he didn't fancy wandering around in the woods for ages to look for it.

He was about halfway back to the clearing when a feeling of dread, so intense that he could have sworn it froze his heart in his chest, washed over him; he started running, eyes wide with fear, panting heavily as he sprinted towards the spot where he'd left Merlin. He didn't know what it was, couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but somehow he knew that something was wrong.

He reached the tree line, skidding to a halt as the clearing came in to view, barely managing to check his speed in time to remain hidden. There was man on the pile of stones, crouching with his back towards the king, looking down into the hole where Arthur knew Merlin lay. Cursing his lack of foresight, Arthur was forced to creep around to the other side of the clearing, staying out of sight behind the trees until he reached his horse.

He calmed the nervous animal with a few strokes to her neck, putting the water skin in the saddlebag before reaching for his sword. He pulled the blade from its sheath as quietly as possible, wincing at the slight scrape of metal as the edge caught when he pulled it free but the man atop the pile gave no indication that he'd heard.

Scaling the rocks with ease, Arthur raised his weapon, boots sliding silently across the uneven surface as he approached the stranger's unprotected back. He had just gotten close enough to attack when the man spoke, his raspy, familiar voice stopping the king in his tracks.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Arthur lowered his sword a little and waited for the man to turn around, still a little wary but mostly relieved that they'd been found by someone who may actually be able to help. There was a flash of tangled black curls and glowing green eyes as the man leapt agilely to his feet, gravelly voice filling the silence once more.

"We meet again, Pendragon." He said, fixing his penetrating gaze on the king.

"So it would seem." Arthur agreed, abandoning his sword entirely as he stepped forward to take the Keeper's place, gazing down at the broken body of his friend.

"The boy lives." The man stated, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth almost imperceptibly as he judged the king's reaction.

Arthur's shoulders slumped forward and the breath left his lungs in a rush as he sighed heavily, "For now, but he won't last for much longer unless we get some help."

"Take heart," the Keeper replied, eyes softening as he watched the desperate king, "the time has not yet come for Emrys to die, there will always be hope while the breath remains in his body."

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked, losing patience with the way the Keeper had studiously avoided answering his ploy for help.

"Why do you think I'm here?" The man replied, raising his eyebrow as he answered Arthur's question with one of his own.

"I would assume to help us but, as you haven't done anything yet, I'm not sure." Arthur said, his annoyance making itself known as he pushed himself into a standing position and fixed the man with an inquisitive stare.

"You are correct, I am here to help but you must be patient." The Keeper answered, smiling again as he considered how much deeper the bond between the king and his warlock had grown in the few short days that they had been imprisoned together. Destiny was a funny thing, sometimes using the most trying of circumstances to bring about the greatest results; everything had been prepared, the stage had been set, and now the entire world was waiting, holding its breath in eager anticipation, for the Once and Future King to unite Albion and take his rightful place at its head. He had waited so long for this day and now it was finally drawing near.

"You can heal him, then?" Arthur asked, the slightly petulant, pleading note in his voice breaking through the Keeper's thoughts.

"It is not as easy as that." The man said, a brief hint of pain and regret flashing behind his eyes before he continued, "You must know that the universe thrives on order, everything has a balance: loyalty and treachery, good and evil… life and death. Death must always be sated, and life is not a gift that can be given freely."

"I understand." Arthur said solemnly, nodding his head once before continuing, "I am fully prepared to offer my life in exchange for his, whatever it takes to save him."

"Your courage is admirable," the Keeper replied, eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared at the king who was destined for such great things, the king who seemed little more than a boy, his slumped shoulders too frail to bear such a great burden, "but there are many things you have yet to do, now is not the time for you to die."

"What then?" Arthur asked, getting frustrated, "What do I have to do to save him?"

"You must travel back to the Valley of Shadows." The Keeper replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "In the Valley lies the Spring of Life, you have seen it once before, this is where you must take the boy to be healed."

"I don't understand," Arthur said, confusion lacing his tone, "I thought you said a life cannot be given freely, who will pay the price?"

"That is not for you to know." The Keeper replied somewhat stiffly, "Destiny has chosen and her choice cannot be altered."

With that, the lanky man jumped down into the pit and knelt beside Merlin's still body, running his large hands over the boy's ribs. There was a rush of green light and the left side of Merlin's chest rose, curving outward before the ribs settled into place, one by one.

"I thought you said you couldn't heal him!" Arthur cried indignantly.

"I can't." the Keeper sighed regretfully, "I have done what I can to ease his suffering and keep him more comfortable as you travel. The bones are easy to mend, they are merely the framework for the body, but inside… the damage has been done and it is too great to heal, even for me. It is a wonder that he is alive at all, he wouldn't be if not for the extraordinary power that runs through his veins; he is, without a doubt, the greatest sorcerer ever to live and you would be wise to remember that."

When he finished speaking, the Keeper turned back to Merlin, wrapping his long fingers around the heavy cuffs that dwarfed the boy's slim wrists and began muttering under his breath. After a few minutes, during which the Keeper grew increasingly pale and had to stop several times to wipe the sweat from his brow, the metal gave way and clattered to the ground in a shower of sparks.

"Keep these," The Keeper directed, swaying slightly as he turned and handed the bracelets to Arthur, "no doubt the physician will want to examine them."

"The phys-" Arthur started, then cut off as he realized that the man meant Gaius. He nodded, hesitantly taking the cuffs from the Keeper's outstretched hand, more than a little perturbed by the way the man's body trembled as he lowered his arm back to his side. Every time that Arthur had seen the Keeper previously, the man had been nothing if not energetic but now he appeared on the verge of collapse, completely and utterly exhausted. If the cuffs had done this to the Keeper in a matter of minutes he didn't even want to think about the effects they'd had on Merlin who had been forced to wear them for weeks…

Abruptly breaking his train of thought, Arthur spun on his heal, collecting his sword as he made his way to his horse and put the bracelets in his pack. When he returned to the pit, the Keeper was nowhere to be found, a discovery that was slightly disappointing, although not entirely unexpected given their previous encounters.

"No use wasting any more time, then." Arthur said, as much to himself as to his unconscious friend, "Let's go to the Valley."

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**1. Please review :)**

**2. I'm leaving for vacation in Florida tomorrow so the next chapter will not be up for at least a week, probably longer. I apologize in advance for the wait but the beach is calling, thanks for your patience and have a wonderful day!**


	27. The Forest of Ascetir

**Hello, remember me? I am painfully aware of the fact that it has been almost three weeks since I posted last and I'm very sorry, blame it on a longer vacation than expected and a virus that zapped my motivation to do anything.**

**I will try to keep updates as regular as possible but I'm doing a lot of traveling this summer and my internet connection will be spotty, just a heads up. Anyhow, hope the chapter was worth the wait!**

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In reality it took less than an hour for Gwaine and Leon to reach the outskirts of the forest but the journey seemed to stretch much longer than that. Every minute felt like an hour, the seconds ticking by in slow motion as their horses crossed the fields at a full run.

Gwaine could see the tree line in the distance, a dark smudge against the horizon that taunted him, never seeming to draw any closer no matter how fast he rode. He kept spurring his horse on faster, a sense of ill-concealed urgency filling him to the brim as the wind whispered past his ears, telling him to hurry, to find the king, and through him Merlin, before it was too late.

He was painfully aware of the amount of time that had passed since he'd last seen the mischievous grin of his best friend, as if his mind had decided, entirely without his permission, to keep a running tally of the exact number of hours, days, even weeks since the boy's disappearance. Needless to say, now that he was finally able to do something productive that might actually help in the search, although he was extremely reluctant to get his hopes up again given the number of times they'd been destroyed in the past few weeks, he intended to do it full out and leave no stone unturned even if he had to search every niche, crack, and crevice in the entire kingdom.

Then there was Arthur to consider, while it was true that he cared significantly less about the king's safety than that of his friend, he was a sworn knight of Camelot and, as such, it was his duty to protect the kingdom and it's leader to the best of his ability. Not to mention the fact that the king was, in all likelihood, his best and only lead as to Merlin's whereabouts.

All that aside, most of the urgency and determination to succeed in rescuing Merlin this time around sprang from the monumental amount of guilt that had washed over him the minute he'd woken from his alcohol-induced coma and had refused to leave him alone since. There was so much guilt and regret that he couldn't even begin to describe it, he felt like he was drowning beneath its weight, struggling to keep his head above the surface, afraid that if he gave in, surrendered even one inch, then the darkness would claim him, dragging him down into it's depths and refusing to ever let him go.

At the heart of the matter there was remorse, obviously, for not being able to find Merlin the first time but it had fanned out, blossoming into so much more. Pent up sorrow over the circumstances of his father's death all those years ago and regret that he hadn't been able to take better care of his mother, hadn't been able to protect her as well as he should have.

Shame that he had felt the need to turn to alcohol in the first place, that he hadn't been able to cope on his own, hadn't been strong enough to put the shattered pieces of his life back together again. And, more recently, massive amounts of anger and self-loathing that, after all the progress he'd made to date, he'd given in to old habits so easily, not even pausing to consider the consequences before drinking himself into oblivion.

Merlin had been the one to pull him forcibly from the destructive cycle he'd been stuck in when they first met, making him see that drowning his pain was the coward's way out. It took a much stronger man to face his worries and fears dead on and Merlin had helped him become that man, or so he'd thought, but that was before waking up in Gaius' chambers with no memory of the past three days.

After everything Merlin had done for him, all the trust and faith the boy had lavished on the frankly undeserving knight, Gwaine had failed him. Not only had he failed to find Arthur's servant but worse, he'd given up completely on ever seeing the boy again, falling back into his old ways and even though he knew Merlin would forgive him in an instant, he wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for that lapse.

His train of thought was broken as they entered the cool confines of the forest but any relief he felt upon reaching the elusive shadows was short lived; the closeness of the trees and the dense tangles of underbrush made it all but impossible to travel faster than a walk and the sluggish pace that they were forced to adopt was almost unbearable.

After a few minutes of restless shifting in the saddle, Gwaine resigned himself to the slower pace and let his thoughts take him in a new direction, his eyes never resting in their frantic sweep of the woods around him.

It was a little strange he supposed, to ride out without Percival and Elyan. He had become accustomed to the steady, silent, reassuring presence of the large knight and the lighthearted camaraderie he shared with Gwen's wiry brother each time they left on patrol but someone had needed to stay behind in order to protect the city in their absence.

Camelot was now at its most vulnerable point since Uther had died and it wouldn't do to leave the castle, or its queen, without proper protection. It was highly unlikely that any of the surrounding kingdoms would dare to attack during this lapse of strength but not entirely unthinkable, so Elyan had opted to remain at his sister's side and Percival had chosen to join him.

It was probably better that the patrol contained only the two of them anyway as they wished to remain undetected in their search. As of yet, no one, not even the inhabitants of the lower town knew that their king was missing and before their departure Gwen had impressed upon them the importance of keeping it that way. It was one thing for the monarch to be away on a quest and quite another to admit that search parties had been dispatched to look for him.

If word were to get out that the king was anything less than safe, healthy, and alive, it could cause mass confusion and chaos, damaging the people's morale perhaps beyond repair. And so, although the patrols had departed with haste, they had done so quietly and discretely so as not to raise the suspicions of the general populace.

Something rustled through the underbrush and Gwaine tensed, turning his head sharply to the side to find the source of the disturbance but it was only a rabbit. He shook his head, banishing his thoughts and turned his attention back to the terrain in front of them, concentrating entirely on finding some sign of the king's passage, more than one life depended on the success of their mission.

…

As they rode through the forest, Gwaine's mouth remained firmly shut; something that, if not for the seriousness of the situation, Leon would have considered nothing short of miraculous. The older knight knew that Gwaine and Merlin had developed a special friendship over the years and that Gwaine had taken the boy's disappearance harder than anyone else, except perhaps Arthur himself.

A covert glance to the side revealed just how heavily the boy's disappearance had affected the usually jovial knight. His lips, which were normally raised in a perpetual smirk or some other form of amusement, were pressed into a thin line, the force with which he did so draining them of all color. His brow was furrowed, deep lines cutting across the smooth skin of his forehead and his eyebrows were drawn together in concern.

He was gripping the reigns so hard that his knuckles had turned white and his impatience was evident in the way he kept shifting in the saddle, unable to keep still. The vibrant, cheerful light that normally filled his eyes, making them sparkle with barely concealed amusement, was missing and the flat film of sorrow that darkened his irises aged him significantly, the absence of youthful joy adding years to his face.

If the circumstances of this patrol had been any different, Leon would have been ecstatic at the complete lack of corny jokes and childish pranks but now it worried him almost more than he cared to admit. As the oldest of Arthur's knights it had fallen to him to be a sort of father figure to the group of boys who, for the most part, had never known the influence of a loving father in their lives.

More often than not, trying to reign in the boisterous group left him feeling exhausted and wholly unappreciated but he continued to do it anyway because he cared about each and every one of them far more than he would ever let on. He'd never had children of his own and probably never would, although not for lack of trying, but Arthur's knights helped fill the void left by his sorrowful lack of offspring, stirring his paternal instinct and giving him an outlet for his feelings.

It pained him more than he could say to see Gwaine like this, and he would have done anything in his power to put the smile back on the younger man's face but he feared it was too late. He was trying to be optimistic about the situation but he'd known Morgana far better and longer than any of the other knights and he feared it was highly unlikely that Merlin would ever be found or that Gwaine's joy would ever fully return.

Right now they needed to concentrate on rescuing Arthur, and Leon could only pray that the king had managed to avoid Morgana's clutches because if she had gotten her hands on him then Camelot was likely in for even more heartache and heartbreak than it had suffered already.

…

Getting Merlin out of the pit proved to be quite difficult, it took a great deal of maneuvering and no small amount of physical exertion on Arthur's part before the boy finally lay on the ground next to him. There had been a tense moment of uncertainty when Merlin had become restless, his breathing labored as Arthur struggled to hoist him up the rocky wall but it had passed and now the boy was resting quietly beside the winded king, seemingly no worse for the wear.

After a few minutes of rest, Arthur pushed himself to his feet and, bending down, gently lifted Merlin into his arms. He winced in sympathy as his servant groaned, brow scrunching in pain, and tried to ignore the way the knobs of Merlin's spine scraped across his arm, forcing him to realize once again how very thin and skeletal his friend had become during his confinement.

The king hardly even noticed the extra weight as he crossed the short distance to his horse and settled Merlin carefully into the saddle. He hesitated for a minute, concerned gaze sweeping over the limp, unresponsive body of his friend before removing what was left of his shirt and tearing it into long strips that he then used to secure the boy's wrists and ankles to the animal.

He felt bad restraining Merlin, especially considering the state of his wrists and the torment he'd endured at Morgana's hand but he couldn't risk the boy falling from the horse during their journey and it was unlikely, if the past few days were anything to go by, that Merlin would regain consciousness before they reached the Valley.

After one last glance around the clearing, Arthur placed his hands on either side of his friend, levering himself into the saddle and grabbing the reigns as he steered the horse into the waiting shadows of the trees. No doubt it would be slow going but, with any luck, they would be able to reach their destination within two days.

Merlin groaned again, his hoarse voice dark with pain and Arthur cast a worried glance toward his friend, the sooner they reached the Valley, the better it would be for everyone involved and he could only hope that they wouldn't run in to further trouble on the way, that was the last thing either of them needed right now.

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**It's all starting to come together now, Gwaine and Leon are in the same forest as Arthur and Merlin, it's only a matter of time before they find each other... right?**


	28. More Than It Seems

**Once again it's been too long, sorry about that. This chapter is entirely Merlin and Arthur with some good old hurt/comfort, hope you enjoy it!**

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Arthur was about ready to stop for the night when Merlin started getting restless, his muscles twitching almost involuntarily as he tried ineffectually to escape the cloth that bound his limbs to the saddle. At first the king wasn't concerned, this had happened several times during their journey, the boy might struggle for a few minutes but soon enough he would go limp against the horse's neck, leaving Arthur to carry on without further thought to the matter.

It started to become an issue when, instead of tapering off as they had before, the twitches became more frequent, each small movement of his servant's body accompanied by little whimpers of pain that cut the king to the quick. It seemed that instead of sinking back into the oblivion of unconsciousness, Merlin was becoming increasingly aware of his surroundings.

Suddenly the boy began to thrash violently, panicking at his inability to move his arms and legs and Arthur could no longer ignore his manservant's discomfort. He stopped the horse abruptly and jumped to the ground, swallowing his own panic as he struggled to free the boy. He worked as quickly as possible, picking at the knots that bound Merlin in place, biting his lip in frustration when they refused to come undone. Why had he tied them so tightly? It was taking far too long to free his friend and if Merlin didn't stop moving soon he was liable to cause himself even further injury.

Cursing under his breath, the king took a step back, forcing himself to calm down and think; cutting through the knots wasn't even an option, he'd used the last of his shirt to secure the boy and they couldn't afford to waste any of their valuable resources, not if they wanted to make it back to Camelot alive. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to ignore Merlin's cries as he waited for his racing heart to slow to a more acceptable rate before returning to the knots, breathing a sigh of relief when they finally came loose and released the boy from his confinement.

Merlin began to slip to the side almost immediately, unable to balance himself atop the animal in his current state and Arthur was forced to grab him under the arms, trying to be gentle as he lifted the boy from the horse and sank to the ground, crossing his legs underneath him and pulling Merlin's raven head onto his lap. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter closed as he rubbed calming circles on Merlin's chest that were as much for his own benefit as for his servant's. It was fine, everything would be fine, he could do this, he could save his friend. Soon enough they'd be back in Camelot and everything would go back to normal, everything would be just fine.

He opened his eyes and moved his hand to Merlin's face, pushing the damp strands of hair off his friend's too-pale forehead. The boy's eyes were flitting back and forth anxiously under his closed lids and he kept moving his head from side to side, clawing weakly at the ground below, skeletal fingers barely leaving marks as he dragged them through the dirt and grass lining the forest floor. It was obvious that the servant was in pain, especially to Arthur who had become remarkably adept at sensing his friend's discomfort in recent days, and it was killing him that he couldn't do more to help but Merlin was in a place utterly beyond his influence.

"Shhhh Merlin, don't worry, everything's going to be fine." Arthur soothed, rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly, his voice holding significantly more confidence than he felt at the moment. The king wanted it to be true more than anything, wanted to believe that they would make it back to Camelot and that everything would return to normal but he couldn't completely ignore the sense of dread that was gathering in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't that he mistrusted the Keeper's words; he had no doubts that Merlin _would_ be healed, but he couldn't help listening to the little voice whispering in his ear that it was too simple. As of yet, their journey to the Valley had been relatively uneventful, something altogether unheard of for the pair of them, and then there was the question of the price, he knew better than anyone the cost of magic, his own mother had been sacrificed so that he might live after all, and the threat of another sacrifice was not to be taken lightly.

He couldn't begin to guess who's life would be demanded in place of his servant's but he could guarantee that the boy would not be happy with the result. No matter who it was, Merlin was bound to blame himself for their death, no matter that it had been destined for thousands of years. The idiot had some sort of hero complex and there was nothing he hated more than the idea of someone else sacrificing themself for him.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, Merlin calmed, his frenetic movements dying away as his breaths evened out and his clenched hands fell limply at his sides. Arthur slipped out from under the boy, tethering the horse to a tree and unpacking his bedroll before moving the servant onto it. He pulled the thin blanket up over his friend's battered body, tucking it just beneath the boy's chin as he wished once again that he could do more to help.

His hands lingered on the blanket for a long moment, pressed to Merlin's chest where he could feel the reassuring thump of the boy's heart through the threadbare cloth. "We'll get through this Merlin," Arthur vowed, bringing one hand up to lightly trace the scar on his servant's cheek, "I promise."

With that he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the chill as a crisp breeze gusted through the clearing. Winter was well on its way and, while he hadn't missed the minimal warmth his shirt could provide during the day, he was starting to feel its absence quite keenly. The sun was rapidly disappearing, sinking beneath the tree line and taking the heat of the day with it; as reluctant as he was to give away their position to any enemies who may be lurking nearby, he suspected that they would need a fire if they wanted to make it through the night.

He gathered what sticks he could find around the clearing, the descending twilight spurring him into action, before venturing further into the trees for more substantial kindling. After collecting what he hoped would be enough wood to last them through the night he returned, immensely relieved that Merlin seemed to be resting peacefully, and arranged the branches beside his sleeping friend before digging through his pack for the flint.

Despite what Merlin thought, he was quite capable of taking care of himself, collecting his own firewood, starting his own fires. He wasn't nearly as helpless as the boy would have the rest of the world believe; he was the king of Camelot after all, not some incompetent child. Merlin might find it hard to believe but Arthur had been cleaning his own armor, polishing his own sword, and setting up his own camp for as long as he could remember. The only reason he made Merlin do it now was because he trusted the boy with his life, none of his previous servants had been allowed anywhere near his sword or his armor, those had been his responsibility and his alone.

The sparks finally caught the tinder and Arthur leaned down, blowing gently as he coaxed the glittering specks into a small flame that danced merrily, pushing back both the darkness and the chill that had descended. In a matter of minutes the fire was roaring and Arthur leaned back against a tree, closing his eyes as he relished in the waves of warmth that washed over him.

They would need to get an early start tomorrow if they wanted to make it to the outskirts of the impenetrable thicket by nightfall. He certainly wasn't looking forward to fighting his way through that tangled mass again, especially with Merlin in tow but if that was what it took to save the boy he would do it without hesitation.

A twig snapped somewhere outside the ring of light their fire provided and Arthur sat up straighter, breaking his train of thought as he wrenched his eyes open and pinched his arm hard to fight off the drowsy feeling that was creeping over him, muffling his senses. He hadn't slept in two days but that couldn't be helped, he would be able to sleep after he'd gotten Merlin to the Valley. Everyone knew that the forest of Ascetir was crawling with bandits and ruffians, plus all manner of terrifying creatures; only a fool would leave their camp unguarded, especially with the fire broadcasting their whereabouts to anyone who cared to look.

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**This chapter was a bit shorter than usual but I'm pleased to announce that the next one is already almost finished and it will be up tomorrow!**


	29. The Night is Dark

**Next chapter as promised, hope you like it!**

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It was midafternoon before Gwaine and Leon found anything to aid them in their search for the king and it was really only by chance that they spotted it in the first place. Despite the fact that it was well into autumn, the sun had been quite warm and the pair had spent most of the day on horseback. By the time the sun had reached its peak and started to descend towards the western horizon both of the knights were parched, having drunk all the water they'd brought hours before.

They had been on the lookout for a few hours before Leon caught sight of the small stream, partially hidden behind the thick underbrush. Stopping their horses, the two men dismounted and led the animals to the creek, kneeling beside them to splash the cool water across their faces and fill up their water skins.

It was while Gwaine was kneeling on the ground that he spotted the boot prints, the imprints were barely two yards down the stream and were pressed heavily into the soft mud lining the bank. Alerting Leon to the fact that they weren't alone, he rose slowly, loosing his sword in its sheath before doing a quick scan of the area. Leon followed suit, hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword as his sharp grey eyes took in their surroundings. After a few tense moments with no immediate threat they waded across the stream with their horses in tow and bent down to inspect the prints in more detail.

"Well, it's a man." Leon said, breaking the silence as he traced the outline with his fingertips "Could be Arthur."

Gwaine nodded and Leon was relieved to see that some of the light had returned to the younger man's eyes at the discovery, no matter how small it was.

"Can't be more than a couple days old either." Gwaine replied, rubbing some of the mud between his fingers, "Let's see what else we can find."

"If it is Arthur there probably won't be much of anything." Leon cautioned, not wanting the younger man to get his hopes up only to have them dashed again. The king was quite good at covering his tracks, had been since he was a little boy and it was going to be damn near impossible to find him, especially if he didn't want to be found.

"I know." Gwaine answered, motioning Leon forward with a mocking bow that displayed a hint of his usual sarcasm, "After you."

The older knight stood, smirking slightly at Gwaine's antics and scanned the ground as he followed the prints back into the forest; they didn't last for long, disappearing into the dense underbrush after only a few paces, but at least they provided some idea as to which direction the man had been heading in.

"Let's split up." Leon suggested, "Twenty paces and then we return to this spot, be on your guard."

Gwaine nodded in agreement, senses heightened with adrenaline as he headed off to the right. Leon went to the left but soon returned to their meeting spot by the stream, his search having yielded next to nothing, if someone had gone that way they certainly hadn't left any indication of their passage.

A short while later Gwaine's excited voice rang through the quiet woods, "LEON, HERE!" The older knight jumped up and headed into the trees, following the sound of his companion's voice, within minutes he stood beside the younger man trying to decide if he should be worried or relieved at the sight.

Gwaine was standing beside a tree with a half smile stretched across his face, fingering a strip of red cloth that he'd found tied to a low-hanging branch, "It's Arthur, it's got to be."

Leon made a noise of assent in the back of his throat and paced forward a few steps wondering why the king would leave such an obvious trail. The material had clearly come from Arthur's shirt, none of the bandits or vagabonds in these woods would own anything half as nice, not to mention that it was red, a color that was decidedly not conducive to blending in, something the people who lived here excelled at and depended on for survival.

Neither did it make sense that the king had been captured, although he did briefly consider that option. The thing was, if Morgana, or bandits, or anyone else had taken Arthur, he never would have had time to tie the cloth around the tree so the only conclusion, in Leon's mind, was that the king had been injured. If that was the case, then Arthur had taken a huge risk in marking his trail, the flags could just as easily have been found by an enemy and the only reason the king would decide to take such a risk was if the situation was quite desperate.

"Did you find any more?" Leon asked abruptly, reaching the conclusion that they needed to find the king as soon as possible, every minute counted and the longer they waited, the less likely it was that they would find Arthur alive.

"Not yet," Gwaine replied, shaking his head, "but I'm sure we will."

All in all they only found six strips of cloth before the trail ended, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The knights paused, growing wary as they glanced into the forest around them, Arthur had obviously wanted to be found, he'd left them a trail after all, but now the clues had ended and they had no indication of where to turn next.

Gwaine crept forward on the balls of his feet, making no sound as he moved through the underbrush and motioned Leon to follow him, which the older knight did immediately. Gwaine's eyes were sharp, much better at tracking than Leon's and if anyone could pick up the trail it would be Gwaine.

"Here." Gwaine said, pointing out several broken branches before bending down to inspect a rare patch of bare dirt that wasn't covered by the foliage. "Look at these prints, something was wrong, he must have been running but why?"

Leon shrugged as the younger knight stood, brow furrowing as he stared contemplatively into the trees before them, almost as if they could provide the answer to Gwaine's question. It didn't make any sense, if Arthur had been injured gravely enough to leave them a trail, how had he found the strength to run? Something else that niggled at the back of Leon's mind was the blood, several of the fabric scraps they'd found had been stiff with dried blood, enough to suggest a serious injury, and yet there had been no blood on the trees or the forest floor.

It was strange and Leon didn't know what to make of it, he kept turning things over in his mind as he trailed along behind Gwaine but no matter how many times he reviewed the facts, he always came to the same conclusions, conclusions that made absolutely no sense. He came out of his reverie quite suddenly as he slammed into Gwaine's unmoving back. The younger knight grunted and turned, glaring at him before gesturing towards a small clearing that was barely visible through the trees. Leon nodded but instantly regretted the action as the other man stepped out into the open without a second thought.

"Gwaine!" Leon hissed, giving a furtive scan of the trees before drawing his sword and following his companion into the clearing. The younger knight was obviously distracted by the fact that every step brought them nearer to finding the king but, if anything, they needed to be _more_ cautious now than ever before.

Gwaine knew better than to enter an un-scouted area without securing the perimeter first and, while Leon was glad that the knight had grown increasingly animated, acting more and more like his old self during the course of the search, it didn't excuse his reckless behavior. These woods were dangerous and they couldn't afford to take risks if they wanted to find the king and make it back to Camelot in one piece.

Leon assumed a defensive stance, staying low to the ground and spinning in slow circles as he walked, checking the area for danger as they should have done before entering the open. By the time Leon reached him, Gwaine was standing on the far side of the clearing, staring at a large pile of rocks with his arms crossed leisurely over his chest.

"Gwaine-" Leon began, only to be cut off before he could begin his lecture by the tightness in the other knight's voice.

"What do you think?" Gwaine asked, gesturing wildly at the rocks for a moment before returning his arms to his chest and crossing them again, this time protectively.

Leon took a moment to study the pile before replying, "Looks like a rock slide to me, probably fairly recent."

"That's what I thought." Gwaine said, clearing his throat before reaching up and scaling the rocks with ease. Once he reached the top, he turned back to look at Leon, humor lighting his eyes for a moment before being swallowed by something darker that the older knight couldn't quite define, although if he had to hazard a guess, he'd say it was worry.

"Coming?" Gwaine asked, when the other man made no move towards the pile.

"Yeah." Leon grunted, shaking his head and sheathing his sword as he made one last cautionary sweep of the clearing with his eyes and pulled himself up.

Once they reached the top it was immediately evident that the cause of the rock slide, or whatever it had been, was anything but natural. Several of the stones had large scorch marks on them and there were three deep holes that had been dug out of the rubble. There was a strange smell on the air that raised the hairs on the back of Leon's neck and he brought up his guard once again as they trekked towards the first hole. When they reached it they found that the pit was empty but the rocks that lined it were stained with an alarming amount of blood.

"Do you think…" Gwaine started, trailing off as he brought his earnest brown eyes up to lock with Leon's grey ones.

For a moment the older knight didn't answer, then he moved towards the second pit, voice trailing behind him as he walked. "Let's not jump to any conclusions."

In the second pit they found Morgana, or at least her body. Several minutes passed in stunned silence as they took in the still, pale form of the witch who had been Camelot's greatest enemy for years. Her skin had long since gone cold but there was an air of cruel beauty about her, even in death, that drew them in, stealing their breath away as they stared at her.

Gwaine was the first to break her hold, wonder and incredulity painting his tone as he voiced the words that they were both thinking, "Morgana is dead."

"It would seem so." Leon replied, equally dazed by the simple fact that someone, possibly Arthur, had succeeded in killing the witch who had wreaked so much havoc on the kingdom. It was surreal to think that finally, after all the years of conflict, Camelot's biggest threat, her archenemy, was _dead_.

"If Morgana's dead, where's Merlin?" Gwaine asked, glancing around as if he expected to find the boy hiding behind a rock.

"I don't know." Leon said, "With Arthur?"

"Let's go then." Gwaine answered, stalking towards the edge of the pile, ready to climb down.

"Wait." Leon said, "Don't you think we should, you know, bury her?"

"Why?" Gwaine asked impatiently, "She deserves to rot in Hell for what she's done, to Arthur, to Merlin, to all of us."

"Still…" Leon replied reluctantly, "She was our friend once."

"She might have been your friend," Gwaine huffed, "but she wasn't mine. Come on, let's go."

"We can't go any further tonight anyway." Leon reasoned, pointing at the sun, which was hovering just above the western horizon, sending its lasts streaks of golden light through the trees.

"Fine." Gwaine agreed, "We'll stay here for the night but we're leaving at dawn. And I'm not helping you bury that witch."

Leon nodded in agreement and turned back to the pit, using the stones piled beside the hole to fill it in, slowly but surely sealing Morgana Pendragon in a tomb of rock. Gwaine might not think that she deserved it but Leon knew better, yes she'd betrayed them, yes she'd spent the last few years doing everything in her power to steal the throne that was Arthur's by rights but Leon couldn't bring himself to condemn her completely for her actions.

He still remembered her as Uther's raven haired ward, the one who had run through the castle corridors with prince Arthur, playing tag and fighting imaginary dragons with her little wooden sword. He remembered the way her laughter could fill a room, the silvery peals bringing a smile to the face of anyone who heard. That girl deserved at least this much and he would give it to her, duty demanded it of him.

He had just finished filling in the pit when Gwaine motioned him over, the younger knight was standing over the third pit holding a makeshift torch so that it illuminated the face of the man inside. Darkness had fallen and Gwaine had fetched their horses from the woods, setting up camp while Leon had been busy burying Morgana.

"Who is this?" Gwaine asked.

"No idea." Leon replied after studying the boy's face for a few minutes, "Let's go eat."

After dinner, Leon stretched out on his bedroll, shoving his pack under his head and tried to get some sleep. Gwaine had offered to take first watch and Leon hadn't argued, the younger man looked like he had a lot on his mind and it wouldn't do any good for both of them to stay up all night.

Barely ten minutes passed before Leon's light snores filled the air and, before too long, Gwaine's eyes started to shut as well, drooping further and further before finally falling shut as he gave in to his exhaustion.

The night passed uneventfully, the moon rising and setting with little change in the prone forms below; in fact, it wasn't until the sun rose that the trouble started. A sharp groan echoed through the trees, bouncing off their trunks until it reached the sleeping knights, it was followed shortly thereafter by an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to freeze the very blood in Gwaine's veins, ripping his already damaged heart into a thousand pieces as his eyes snapped open.

He tore his blankets off in a frenzy of terror, rushing to the edge of the cliff before throwing his head back and shouting at the top of his lungs. "MERLIN!"

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**I know, I know, another cliffy but what can I say... this is me you're dealing with. **

**I had fully intended for Gwaine and Leon to find our boys this chapter but I felt like I should go into more detail with the search, it's not easy to find two people in a huge forest you know. Also I thought Morgana deserved to be buried. In other words, I tried to tie up the loose ends and my imagination ran away with me, again.**

**Next chapter we'll find out what happened to Arthur and Merlin plus Gwaine and Leon will finally meet up with them, I promise.**


	30. What I Know

**Hello, it's been a while but I've finally finished the next chapter! In case you were wondering, Florida is great this time of year and I've recently become addicted to Supernatural, a very time-consuming obsession.**

**All of you sadists out there will be excited to know that this part contains some pretty serious whump but for anyone who doesn't go for that as much I've also added some comfort and a pretty awesome (in my humble opinion) bamf!Merlin scene.**

**For anyone who lives in the good old USA, I hope you have a wonderful Independence Day tomorrow, I'm certainly looking forward to the fireworks.**

**Anyway, enough rambling, on to the story!**

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Arthur made a valiant effort to stay awake, he almost succeeded too, sitting with Merlin through the long night, forcing himself to remain vigilant until the first pink streaks of dawn began to stain the eastern horizon. He should have known better but the days he'd spent without sleep, the countless hours he'd passed on edge, never pausing to slow down, never allowing himself to take a break, finally caught up with him.

As the sun peeked over the horizon he made one simple mistake, one cataclysmic error that threatened everything he'd worked so hard to achieve in the past weeks; he let his guard down, just a little but it was enough to send his already exhausted body into a much needed, although dismally ill-timed sleep.

It happened so slowly that he almost didn't realize what was coming, and by the time he did it was much too late to stop it. It started as a tingling sensation that left his body feeling so heavy he doubted that he would be able to move it if he tried, just the thought of lifting a finger left him completely empty, drained of anything that even resembled energy or motivation.

After that his eyelids began to droop, staying closed for longer and longer each time he blinked. His head fell forward until his chin rested on his chest and he slumped sideways against the trunk of the tree behind him, barely noticing the scrape of the rough bark against his cheek.

Eventually it became physically impossible for him to stay awake any longer and his eyes rolled back in his head, lids sliding closed as he succumbed to his exhaustion, inadvertently rendering himself completely vulnerable and oblivious to his surroundings. No matter how determined he had been to stay awake, he could no longer ignore the demands of his body and that was where it all started to go terribly wrong.

…

As Arthur's eyes closed, Merlin's snapped open. He lay there for a minute, gasping as he tried, and failed, to get the pain under control. It was everywhere, so intense that it stole his breath away, radiating outward from his chest until it consumed his entire body in an insatiable fire.

It was everything he could do to push away the black spots that were swarming his vision, threatening to drag him into the dark emptiness of oblivion once again. He couldn't give in, not yet; something was wrong, he could feel it. There was a darkness surrounding them, something black and evil that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he had to warn Arthur, it was getting closer.

It took several minutes of careful maneuvering and more than a few curse words but he finally managed to turn his pounding head to the side without passing out. Arthur was slumped against a tree and for a moment, Merlin's already racing heart jumped into his throat in horror but then the logical side of his brain took over and he saw the steady rise and fall of the king's chest, Arthur wasn't dead, merely sleeping.

"Arthur." Merlin breathed with what little air he was able to draw into his lungs. The word was barely more than a sigh, nearly inaudible, but he couldn't seem to force his voice any higher. The king didn't stir, didn't make any indication that he'd heard, a development that was altogether expected although that didn't make it any less disappointing.

Deciding to try a different tack, Merlin worked up his resolve, pooling all of his courage and energy until he had enough to fling his arm across the open space between them, his fingers outstretched so that they brushed past the sleeping king's thigh. He stiffened almost immediately, muscles tensing defensively as tendrils of white-hot agony raced from the tips of his fingers down to his toes.

He thought he had been prepared for the pain but it turned out he wasn't and a harsh sob escaped his clenched lips before he could stop it. He lay there for what seemed like years, biting his lip to hold in the screams that were begging to be released, a muscle in his jaw jumping incessantly as he waited for the pain to recede to a more manageable level.

Arthur still had not moved and Merlin was beginning to despair that he would ever wake up, the king was obviously exhausted, if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by, but now was not the time. There was something out there, something bad and Merlin couldn't protect them both, he needed the king's help.

"Arthur." Merlin tried again, louder this time as he forced his voice past the lump in his throat, but it didn't do any good, the king didn't even twitch. Deciding there was nothing for it, Merlin took a deep breath, eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle as he tried to ignore the way his chest protested the sudden intake of air, and yelled.

"Arth-"

The name cut off halfway through as something warm filled his throat and he gagged, coughing violently as tears flooded his eyes. He fought down the panic and struggled to breathe, chest heaving with the effort but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to draw any air into his aching lungs. He felt like he was drowning, choking on his own blood and he was powerless to stop it.

He tried to roll onto his side but he got tangled in the blanket, limbs flailing weakly against the cloth that held him in place. His thoughts were all jumbled together, nearly beyond any sort of coherency as they were swallowed up by the blinding fear coursing through his veins. He was going to die, he was going to die right here next to Arthur and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

The black spots returned, dancing almost gleefully before his eyes, mocking him as he slid further and further towards unconsciousness. Just when he thought all was lost, his magic flared deep inside him, reaching out instinctually for the sleeping king, sending out the desperate cry for help that Merlin had been incapable of uttering himself.

The effects were instantaneous, Arthur jerked awake and immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He rubbed his sleepy eyes in confusion for a few seconds, trying to remember what had woken him, before he noticed his purple-faced manservant practically writhing on the ground.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, rushing to his friend and quickly rolling him onto his side. He patted the boy's back reassuringly, brow knit together in concern as Merlin's body began to tremble uncontrollably, seizing over and over again as the servant tried to clear the blood from his lungs.

Eventually the shudders abated and Merlin rolled onto his back once again, wheezing heavily. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his pale lips were dyed red with the blood that stained his teeth and dripped down his chin. His skin had taken on a distinct greyish hue and the black circles that lined his eyes had, if possible, deepened in color. That wasn't what worried Arthur the most though, it was the fact that Merlin's normally vibrant blue eyes had gone dull, almost lifeless, and that scared him to death.

"-thur." Merlin said, eyelids fluttering weakly as he strained to make himself heard over the harsh sounds of his own breathing.

"I'm right here, Merlin." Arthur answered, taking the boy's hand between his own. "It's alright, you're alright now."

"No." Merlin breathed, his fragile grip on the king's hand tightening almost imperceptibly, he seemed to be trying to say something else but the words wouldn't come.

"What is it Merlin?" Arthur asked, leaning closer so he could better hear the disjointed sounds coming from his friend's mouth.

"Something's…" Merlin answered, pausing to take a breath before speaking again, "wrong."

"Okay," Arthur said slowly, "I'll go check it out."

"No!" Merlin replied forcefully enough to set off another coughing fit.

"Alright," Arthur began, "calm down, I'll just-" his voice cut off suddenly as he stiffened in shock, letting out a grunt of pain that seemed to echo through the trees around them.

The king pitched forward, blinking rapidly as he braced himself against the ground with his left arm. His right was clutched protectively to his chest and Merlin's heart sank as he saw the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his friend's back, now they were really in trouble.

…

Never one to give up without a fight, Arthur struggled to his feet, face white with pain, and drew his sword as he prepared to face the oncoming attack with grim determination. This was a fight that he couldn't afford to lose, if anything, Merlin's fit earlier had proven once again how very close the boy was to death and Arthur vowed to himself that he would get Merlin to the Valley if it was the last thing he did. Merlin couldn't die, it wasn't even an option because Arthur wasn't going to let him.

Two men dressed entirely in black emerged from the trees, converging on Arthur with a speed that seemed almost inhuman and the injured king sprung into action immediately, twirling his sword in anticipation. His left arm might not be his dominant arm but he'd learned to fight at a disadvantage long ago; what good was a sword if you could only use it with one hand?

Arthur put his back to a tree and waited for the men to attack, by letting them make the first move he would be able to judge their strengths and weaknesses while keeping his own a secret, this would give him an advantage, albeit a small one, but an advantage nonetheless.

One of the attackers came forward immediately, meeting the king's challenge head on while the other hung back, his face concealed in the shadows of his deep hood. The first man attacked with more ferocity than Arthur was expecting and the king was taken aback by the red sheen of his eyes, the only feature that was visible on his shaded face.

Bringing his sword up quickly, Arthur blocked the man's blow, wincing slightly as it jostled his wounded shoulder but otherwise keeping his composure. The king's opponent was a decent swordsman but in the end, Arthur's superior skill won out and he darted past the man's defenses, burying his blade deep in the stranger's gut before pulling it out with a satisfying squelch.

The man wavered for a minute, swaying on his feet before seeming to collect himself and continue with the attack as if nothing had happened.

"Impossible." Arthur muttered, more than a little disconcerted over the fact that the man had sustained a fatal injury and was now charging again as if it had been nothing more than a scratch. He'd seen soldiers like these before of course, when Morgana had attacked Camelot with her immortal army, but if the men he faced now were anything like last time, they'd be hard-pressed to escape with their lives.

Squaring his shoulders, Arthur prepared to meet the man again, keeping a wary eye on the second who was still lurking on the sidelines. Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, a sharp pain pierced his thigh and he couldn't hold back the low groan that escaped his lips when he glanced down and saw the long gash that split his skin, oozing an alarming amount of blood.

…

Merlin watched the fight from his place on the ground with a growing sense of helplessness and despair, it was _not_ going well; of all the times they could have chosen to run into a pair of immortal foes this was, quite possibly, the worst. Racking his brain, he tried to think of a spell that would kill them but the pain was making his thoughts fuzzy and slowing his reflexes considerably, try as he might, he just couldn't get them to stay in one place.

Arthur grunted and Merlin realized that he was running out of time, the king was injured pretty badly and he wouldn't be able to fend off his assailant for much longer. Even as he watched, the king's wounded leg collapsed beneath him and he sunk to his knees, the other man's sword hovering dangerously close to his heart.

"Stop, please!" Merlin pleaded but his voice came out so low that he would be surprised if the other man had even heard it.

The attacker raised his sword to strike the king through the heart and Merlin lost it, he wasn't going to let Arthur die like this, not after everything they'd been through. They had defeated Morgana; this was supposed to signal the birth of Albion, not the death of the only man who could bring the kingdoms together in peace.

Merlin opened his mouth, screaming in anger and denial as righteous fury consumed him, washing away the pain as he let his magic take complete control, sweeping through him in a way that it never had before. His veins pulsed with golden light and his eyes burned brighter than the sun as he leapt to his feet and threw out his arm, letting the power burst from the tips of his splayed fingers without restraint.

All at once the small clearing was filled with brilliant white light, so pure and blinding that the creatures who had attacked them screamed in agony, shrinking away from the kindness, the innocence, the inherent truth that the magic contained as if it were toxic. They screamed as the flesh was stripped from their bones, the light burning away every impurity until all that was left were their stunted, evil hearts, smoking in a shriveled mess on the forest floor.

The light disappeared as quickly as it had come, fading back into Merlin's body, shimmering just under the skin even after all traces of it had disappeared from the clearing.

Arthur stared at the man before him, unable to reconcile this side of his friend with the simple serving boy that everyone knew and loved. It seemed impossible that such power and influence could reside in the body of his clumsy, mischievous manservant and he didn't know how the boy had managed to keep it a secret for so long.

Snapping out of his shocked trance, Arthur watched as Merlin's eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the ground in slow motion, the magic sapping the strength it had given him as it retreated back into his body. The king dragged himself over to the boy, his leg all but useless as the blood loss threatened his hold on consciousness, and pulled Merlin's head into his lap.

His servant might be the most powerful sorcerer to walk the face of the earth but that didn't mean he was invincible so Arthur stroked the hair off the boy's forehead and muttered reassuringly into his ear until his words started to slur drunkenly and his own eyes rolled up in his head. The last thing he heard before the world went dark was someone frantically shouting his name as the blurred outlines of Sir Gwaine and Sir Leon raced towards him through the trees.

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**I don't know about you but I was quite pleased with the way this chapter turned out, let me know what you thought!**


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